


That Age-Old Lament

by dk323



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, M/M, Past Underage Sex, Prostitution, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 64,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dk323/pseuds/dk323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur, Merlin is frustrated when Arthur keeps him waiting about what he plans to do with Merlin and the magic ban in Camelot. Leaving Camelot to investigate a powerful magical feeling, Merlin doesn't expect to reunite with a now grown-up Mordred. Or that he'd be looking after a Faery-possessed five-year old blond boy, and venturing into the Faery Realm. With Merlin away, Arthur is trapped in his own castle by an aging spell cast by a spiteful Morgana. Merlin seeks help from the King of the Faery Realm's Thistlewood to cure Arthur. Unfortunately his plea for aid has unforeseen consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hope for Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place two months before the start of S5 making it a Series 5 AU (magic reveal done earlier). I wrote this story during a busy time in my life, but since this is the last Paperlegends, I couldn't resist participating.
> 
> Since this story deals with death (with a light at the end of the tunnel ;)), I thought to look up quotes relating to death and found it interesting that there were quite a few quotes from JK Rowling's Harry Potter book series. I'm one of those who was a big HP fan back in the day (just as Merlin has won me over heart and soul for these past four years ;)).
> 
> I dedicate this story to my love of HP and the excitement I had for the series as the books were released and the movies came out. That's why I took out and dusted off my hardcover copy of the final HP book and chose the quote from The Tale of the Three Brothers -- consequently a favorite sequence of mine from The Deathly Hallows Part 1 film. There are some Harry Potter references in the story, some more pronounced than others. Also there are references to The Chronicles of Narnia. 
> 
> ** Neither Arthur nor Merlin die during the course of this story.
> 
> **THANK YOU'S:**
> 
> First, I want to give a very big Thank You to Muppet for running this challenge these past four years. You're amazing with how smoothly you run this challenge. Your excellent modship will be missed. :( I appreciate your willingness to accommodate when this story didn't want to cooperate with me. You're a star. :)
> 
> Also, thank you so much to my amazing artist, Superfluous_Emi. I'm in awe of your beautiful work that you drew for this story. You're a true art wizard. Each art piece inspired me and motivated me to continue writing. *three cheers for you*
> 
> I'd like to thank my betas: Rotrude, Aaweth_edain, Kleinefee92 and Tu_es_mi_amour.  Thank you for your support and invaluable feedback! Your advice was very helpful and helped me to reevaluate certain scenes of the story.
> 
> **Art link:** [On AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/964206) | [On LJ](http://superfluous-art.livejournal.com/4504.html)  
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.

_It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and equals, they departed this life._

_(J.K. Rowling; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p. 409 U.S. Hardcover edition)_

**Five Years Ago:**

**Ealdor, outside Hunith’s cottage**

Rilian didn’t notice the Faery until she hovered above his face.

“Hello. My name is Clara.”

Rilian stared at the Faery in surprise. He brushed aside an errant lock of blond hair to get a better look at a magical creature he had never seen before. This Faery was very small – only about the size of his finger.

The little Faery flew with the use of delicate pale wings paired on both sides of her back. She looked about his age and she had blonde hair like him, though hers seemed more white than yellow. Her eyes were a clear blue. She wore a light blue dress and a crystal tiara rested on her head with a sapphire in the center. Rilian thought she was pretty.

“Hello,” he told her, curious as to why she was so interested in him. “I’m Rilian.”

“I’m the Princess of Thistlewood,” Clara said. “My father is the King.” She informed him rather self-importantly. Clara held her head up high as she spoke.

“Oh,” said Rilian.

He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d never heard of the Kingdom of Thistlewood and guessed it was only a place Faeries knew about.

“I’m five. Are you five too?” asked Clara.

Rilian nodded. “Why are you talking to me?”

“You look nice,” said Clara. “You’re special, aren’t you?”

He frowned. “I’m just a boy,” Rilian told her, shrugging.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded contrite.

“Okay.”

“I like you. I think I’ll choose you,” Clara decided. “Rilian,” she added, sounding as if she was testing out his name on her tongue.

She smiled.

Rilian was confused, though his green eyes tracked her as she flew around him.

_A short time later…_

Hunith came out of her cottage to find Rilian with his head down and tears streaking down his face.

“Oh you poor thing. What’s wrong, child?” she asked, feeling sympathetic for the little boy since he’d never known his mother.

He and his father had come to Ealdor two years ago when Rilian had been ill, and they had remained in the village ever since. Hunith wondered what was upsetting Rilian now.

She sat down beside him, petting his head. “I’m here, Rilian. You’re not alone,” she comforted him.

He looked up at her, his face a picture of unhappiness but most of all, fear. He climbed on to her lap and she hugged him.

When Hunith peered at him, looking into his bright green eyes – she was bewildered when she swore she heard a fluttering sound. A fluttering of wings.

“I want my father,” Rilian said plaintively.

“Yes, my child. Of course.”

Hunith stood up, carrying the small child in her arms.

Face red from tears, Rilian appeared to have grown tired. “Father will know what to do,” he said with an unwavering faith in his guardian.

Then his eyes closed and he fell asleep.

“Char! It’s Rilian!” Hunith called to Rilian’s father.

She went back inside her home where she knew Char was. He and his son had been visiting her, and it now seemed that it hadn’t been a good idea to let Rilian play alone. Even if the boy only had been just outside the cottage playing with sticks.

After raising Merlin, Hunith was not blind. She knew the signs of magic when she saw them. And poor Rilian was an unfortunate recipient of some sort of magical mishap.

**Five Years Later:**

**Camelot**

“Arthur, it’s been over a month,” Merlin told him, not even attempting to hide his impatience at Arthur’s unnerving silence about his magic.

“Time does seem to go slower when you’re waiting for something, doesn’t it?” Arthur said conversationally.

He was eating his midday meal as if he had not a care in the world. Merlin swore that Arthur was acting like this to drive Merlin mad. Really, Merlin had half a mind to leave Camelot. He feared if he remained any longer, he’d be tempted to wring Arthur’s neck.

 _“Breathe, Merlin, breathe. Slowly,”_ he advised himself.

“You must have some idea now about what to do…with me,” Merlin finished quietly.

“If you think me so callous as to make you wait only to inform of your execution, then I’m disappointed you think so poorly of me.”

Merlin gave him a look. “Just tell me, Arthur. Please. Stop avoiding it.”

“You know you can’t tell me what to do, Merlin. Not that it ever stops you, unfortunately,” Arthur said, twisting his lips in amusement.

“I understand that you’re upset with me for not telling you years ago. You have every right to exact the highest punishment on me, but I’ve told you--”

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, Merlin. I know you only use your magic to serve me and for the good of Camelot. That you didn’t want to put me in the position of deciding what to do with you while the magic ban was in place. Although it’s disheartening that you told Guinevere before you told me.”

“Gwen saw me using magic to make the fire when we were out camping last month, as you know. I only confirmed it to her. I didn’t go to her and just reveal myself. She urged me to tell you the truth.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem. All this time, Merlin. You couldn’t gather the courage yourself to come to me? You needed Guinevere to convince you.”

“She was my first real friend when I arrived in Camelot. Back when you were still a royal prat. If I can be honest, she deserved to know before you. She was kind when I think even now you don’t know kindness if it dances in front of you naked! Arse,” Merlin grumbled.

Arthur’s eyes widened. “I see,” he said so calmly that Merlin was ready to collapse in defeat.

Then Arthur spoke up again, “It’s only been a few weeks, Merlin. Surely you’ll be all right. You should consider that you kept this secret from me for years. _Years_ , Merlin. Can you not wait longer for my answer? If you could give me the courtesy of thinking this through properly, then I’d be glad of that. But you can rest assured that I’m not planning your execution.”

Merlin let out a sigh. He nodded. “Very well.”

“I have come to one decision though. I believe this would be a good time to tell you.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“I shall be relieving you of your duties as my manservant. You may remain at Camelot, but I feel it better if we spend time apart for now. That I not see you so often as the position of my manservant demands.”

“You’re getting _George_ to replace me?” Merlin concluded, groaning.

Arthur grinned, undoubtedly finding Merlin’s dislike of George funny. But Merlin knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Like Merlin, Arthur wasn’t too fond of George’s all too perfect skills as a manservant.

Merlin was grateful when Arthur shook his head. “No, it won’t be George. I’ll be hiring someone else. Not sure who yet, I haven’t officially started the search. Anyway, I expect you’ll be getting a promotion as Court Sorcerer or the like once I’m successful in changing the laws.”

“So the magic ban will be lifted?” Merlin asked earnestly.

“In the future, yes. But it won’t be easy, Merlin,” Arthur reminded him. “You must know that. The ban has been in place for many years. The citizens of Camelot need time and solid reasoning to adjust to such a big change. Have patience.”

“I’ll try.”

Yet upon leaving Arthur’s chambers, Merlin didn’t feel all that much better. He didn’t like this shift between him and Arthur. He wished Gwen hadn’t succeeded in persuading him to tell Arthur. The wait for the lifting of the ban – what Merlin had desired for so long – left it difficult to be patient. Yes, Arthur had been right that he deserved all the time he required to come to his final decision as King. Merlin had been in the wrong, he had to admit, to keep the magic a secret from Arthur. When he first told Arthur about his magic, Arthur had said if nothing else, Merlin had shown a lack of faith and trust in Arthur and his friendship with him. That’s what hurt Arthur most.

But there was no going back now with what ifs and wishing he had done things differently. Merlin decided it was time to move forwards and hope Arthur succeeded in making Camelot a kingdom friendly to magic users once again.

Also though, Merlin was determined to hate the new manservant Arthur would hire. Because, of course, no one was good enough to serve Arthur except for him. He could step aside as Arthur had requested, but Merlin didn’t have to like it.

**The next day:**

“Oh, Merlin!” Gwen beckoned him over to her in the hallway.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I thought I should tell you…” she started, then stopped, an uncertain look on her face. “Oh if you could, please don’t tell Arthur about this.”

“What shouldn’t I tell him?”

“I didn’t want to dream about him, I swear to you, Merlin,” Gwen lowered her voice to a whisper. “But Lancelot has been appearing in my dreams lately. And last night, he gave me a message to give to you.”

“What’s the message?”

“Do you promise not to tell Arthur about Lancelot?”

“We can’t control the nature of our dreams, Gwen. I understand that. But if you don’t want me telling Arthur, then that does imply you still carry some affection for Lancelot.”

Gwen sighed. “It doesn’t matter either way, does it? He’s gone, and the last time I saw him, I was exiled and miserable without Arthur. It’s too unpleasant to think about. But still it is nice to see him in my dreams. He was like his old self – the noble, good Lancelot I remembered well. It was not like when we last saw him and he managed to drive a rift between Arthur and me.”

Merlin smiled. He embraced her when she looked teary-eyed. “It seems wrong,” Gwen continued. “But I do miss him. I wish he was here, by Arthur’s side at the Round Table. The two of you were such good friends – you and Lancelot? You must miss him too.”

Merlin nodded, giving her a soft smile. “Every single day.”

Gwen pulled out of his embrace. She touched her forehead briefly, taking a deep breath and letting it go before she spoke. “Well yes. That message. Lancelot told me that you would need to see Freya soon. That she would be able to help you with something. And that she misses you, besides, and would like to see you again. Who is this Freya, Merlin? Why have I never met her?”

“She was a girl I knew…she died years ago.”

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “Then why does Lancelot believe you should see her? She can’t help you if she’s passed on.”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s alive in some form like Lancelot came alive in your dreams,” Merlin reasoned, deciding it was best not to tell Gwen about Freya being the Lady of the Lake. That Freya hadn’t truly passed on, but remained as a spirit guarding her lake and providing aid when it was needed.

“Was she your sweetheart?”

“For a brief time, yes,” Merlin admitted with a heavy heart.

“Oh! How sad that she died. Oh, Merlin,” Gwen said sympathetically.

Gwen hugged him.

“I’m okay, I promise, Gwen,” he assured her.

“Hmm, I imagine the situation with Arthur is keeping you occupied.”

“And not in a good way,” Merlin finished in frustration. “There wasn’t anything more to it? Such as what I would need her help with?”

Gwen shook her head. “Only that when the time was right, you would see her.”

Merlin couldn’t bear vague messages after his years of encounters with Kilgharrah and his cryptic pieces of advice. But he didn’t feel just now was the time to see Freya. He had to stay close to Arthur to protect him. Also he had to sabotage the new manservant. So Merlin decided to set the message aside for now.

“Good luck with Arthur,” Gwen wished him. “I did hear he was looking for a new manservant. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret later, Merlin.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Merlin quipped, flashing a grin at her.

He could tell Gwen didn’t buy his ruse by her frown and disbelieving raised eyebrow.

“I have a problem, Mordred,” Morgana began in a falsely casual voice that did little to hide her dangerous intent.

Mordred knew this wouldn’t bode well. He tried to shrug off the two guards Morgana had restraining him.

“I don’t understand why you’re treating me like a criminal. I haven’t done anything,” Mordred said, frustrated.

Morgana leaned forward in her throne. “You haven’t done anything yet. Now this isn’t how I would have liked to see you again after all these years – how old are you now if I may ask?”

“Nineteen,” he answered. “And could you please tell your men to let me go. I’m not going to run.”

“Just a precaution. You must indulge me,” she said dismissively.

Mordred could only assume that whatever Morgana had planned for him, it would be something that would make him want to escape.

He was torn between using his magic to escape or finding out what Morgana was up to.

“I thought we were allies. I saw – I thought of you like a mother. But now, I’m not so sure,” Mordred said uncertainly.

Morgana smiled though the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“There is a prophecy, Mordred. A prophecy that you are meant to wield the sword that would kill my half-brother, King Arthur of Camelot.”

“I’m not interested in killing any kings. I just want to leave.”

Mordred had heard of no such prophecy, or at least not that he could remember. If he had, he would have found it a prophecy doomed to fail. After all, he remembered how King Arthur – well Prince Arthur then – had saved him from execution as a child. Why would he repay that life debt by killing him? That was the last thing he would do.

Really, he had more inclination to fight Merlin – who had in the past shown his strong dislike of him – than the King.

“Oh no. But a series of events will lead you to Camelot and give you cause to kill my half-brother. I cannot let that be,” Morgana explained.

Mordred’s green eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”

“Because Arthur is my blood, and as such, I should be the one to kill him. I don’t want you to have that honour.”

“Yet if it’s a prophecy--” Mordred countered.

Morgana interrupted him.

“Prophecies can be changed. I am the High Priestess of the Old Religion. I have the power to change even the most ancient of prophecies.”

“What I’ve heard is right then. You have gone mad, My Lady.”

Morgana smirked. “Not mad. I have simply been given the gift of clarity about my mission.”

“So what do you want with me? I told you. I have no interest in killing the King. Your path to him is clear. Could you just let me go in peace?”

“If you’re alive, Mordred, then there’s still every chance the prophecy will set you on the path to your destined act. I cannot let that happen. As I said before, you may not desire his death now, but the future will shape your motivations. That, I don’t doubt.”

Mordred decided that he really had to leave now. He had enough of this. Morgana wanted him dead. He didn’t miss what she was implying.

He summoned his magic inside him to his aid, but he found it was out of reach for him.

“I am sorry, Mordred, but only those who I trust may use magic in my castle. I’m afraid you’re not such a person,” Morgana told him smoothly.

Mordred glared at her.

Before he could give her an angry reply, she continued on, “And I’m afraid I can’t let you keep your magic at all.”

“No, Morgana. This is going too far,” Mordred said in desperation.

He struggled to get out of the too-tight grips the guards had on him.

Morgana wouldn’t listen as he expected. He screamed, falling to his knees, as his magic was painfully stripped away from him. Afterwards he was on the ground, curled in the fetal position, wishing that Morgana would have simply killed him instead of leaving him in this unbearable pain and misery.

Yet he didn’t imagine Morgana was capable of mercy now.

“You’re getting out of here,” was the first thing that broke through Mordred’s fog of misery and pain.

It was a voice that Mordred didn’t recognize, but he guessed it was the voice of an older man by the more authoritative, self-assured tone of voice.

It was ridiculous to think he could leave. He could barely climb out of this cold bed Morgana had unceremoniously put him in.

Put him to die a slow, wretched death. Mordred felt empathy for soldiers in battle who begged the skies above for swift death. He felt like doing the same thing – let the torment end. If Morgana wanted him to die, let his life end. Let the pain end.

 _“Please,”_ he pleaded silently to no one and everyone.

“It hurts to move. I’m dying,” Mordred said out loud, not caring about the rudeness of his tone.

He was a dying man, and he just wanted to be left alone.

Mordred heard the man approach.

“Open your eyes,” the man ordered him quietly.

“No. Leave me alone. It’s too late. I’ll be dead by tomorrow I think.”

“Don’t think like that,” the man told him. “My name is Char. I’ll get you out of here, but first you must open your eyes. I won’t speak to a man who can’t even look at me.”

“You ask too much,” Mordred complained weakly.

But he opened his eyes all the same.

Char didn’t look much older than Mordred, but the way the man carried himself, shouldering burden of responsibility, left Mordred considering that this Char could be at least ten years older than him.

His green eyes were bright, and almost unreal, as they seemed to glow in the dim light of the bedchambers. His hair was light brown – curled on top. His build was slender, but he looked strong. Despite the deep green shirt Char wore, Mordred could tell that he had considerable muscle. He didn’t doubt that Char could carry a man rather smoothly, but not at the level of some giant-like men who could crush another man’s skull with frightening ease.

No. He had the build of a knight, and he didn’t doubt that any woman would find him handsome.

Yet Mordred’s thoughts stopped there as he remembered that he’d never experienced any of that. No trying for a knighthood. No battles he’d be a part of. No finding the love he wanted to share the rest of his life with. No family of his own.

Worst of all, he would never get a chance to have sex. He was going to die without really becoming a man, before his life had truly begun. A miserable thought.

“There. Now you see me,” Char said with a slight smile. “I wish I could undo what Morgana has done to you, but I don’t have that ability. I can offer you a means of escape and someone you could see. I’m sure this is the last place you want to die, in the residence of your killer. You need to get away from here.”

“There’s a prophecy…maybe it’s better I die…to prevent me from turning into a murderer myself,” Mordred said slowly. He groaned.

“You shouldn’t think that.”

“I know I become a bad person in the future. My future that would have been. And now I’ll die with that knowledge.”

“Listen to me. All that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you believe yourself to be good, and not what might have been. It won’t happen now. You can’t poison yourself with these thoughts. You are a good person.”

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Your name is Mordred, isn’t it?”

“How do you know that? Is Morgana aware that you’re here? Why should I trust you?”

“I’m the only one offering you an escape, Mordred,” Char said, only answering the final question. “Either you let me help you or you stay here to die in the Lady Morgana’s castle.”

“If she discovers you helped me, you’ll be punished.”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to concern yourself with what happens to me.”

“I’m cold,” Mordred breathed out after a long moment of silence between them.

“I could do something about that. And maybe allow you to walk as well,” Char told him.

Mordred didn’t know what possessed this man he’d never met before to be so ready and willing to help him. Should he just take his kindness for what it was and believe Char was a sincere man on his side?

“But you can’t cure me… what’s the point?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do that for you. I think whatever’s happening to you cannot be fully stopped. This is your fate now.”

“I want to kill Morgana,” Mordred said fiercely, all too determined in fulfilling that goal. “She can’t live while I suffer because of her.”

“One thing at a time,” Char said. “I’ll give you enough magic to be able to travel where you need to go. And I have something else for you too.”

“Why are you helping me?” Mordred wanted to know.

“Just be glad I am,” Char said curtly.

Mordred watched him touch some strange marking on the inside of his right wrist. The marking was of a green lizard looking creature he had never seen before.

A purple light glowed from the marking and upon grasping Mordred’s hand, Mordred felt the magical energy absorb into him. Enough to warm him and to possess the energy to move.

“You’re not telling me something.”

“It’s best you focus on helping yourself and not on me.”

“What’s that green creature on your wrist?” Mordred had to ask.

“It’s a chameleon. It’s my birth mark.”

“Have you ever seen a chameleon?”

“No I’ve never seen a living one.”

“What an odd marking,” Mordred remarked.

“Yet I’m sure it’s a dull creature,” Char said, and Mordred got a distinct feeling he was attempting to prevent Mordred from asking too many questions.

“Who do you suggest I see?”

“His name is Prince Philip. I’m not sure how quickly the Lady Morgana’s magic will work to defeat my magic’s temporary healing, so you don’t have a lot of time. I’ve never seen the prince myself, but those who have met him say he’s worth seeking out. I’m afraid that he doesn’t have the ability to save your life, but he can give you a peaceful passing. And you should find him easily enough as he tends to appear when someone needs his help,” Char told him. “I also have a Cloak of Invisibility so no one will see you.”

“What does Prince Philip look like?”

“He’s a Faery, younger brother to the King of Thistlewood in the Faery Realm. The prince has brown hair and golden eyes from what I’ve heard.”

“Wait. A Faery is my last resort? How old is he?”

“I heard he was about fifteen.”

“Fifteen.” Mordred said incredulously.

He was being told to seek help from a Faery prince who was still a boy really…that prince was four years younger than him! Mordred thought it’d make more sense to find help from someone older, wiser…but yet Char was directing him to seek out the opposite.

“You really should go. Like I said, my magic might not keep you well for long.”

“But…”

“I understand your reservations about Prince Philip, but you won’t regret it. At least that’s what others have told me. So you can seek him out and give yourself something with purpose to do. Or find an empty cottage to die in alone. Which would you rather choose?”

“I choose life,” Mordred muttered under his breath.

Char sighed. “Here’s the Cloak. When you put it on, you will be unseen by everyone. You can keep it.”

“Thanks,” Mordred said.

He took the offered cloak, and he guessed it was made of a fine material. It was like silk in his hands, the color a silver-white. He put on the Cloak of Invisibility and he couldn’t hold back his gasp when he looked down and the parts of his body that touched the Cloak were gone. While magic could make one invisible he knew, he had never encountered a cloak that could have this sort of magical property. He was impressed.

Mordred looked up, and then he said to Char, “I still want to know… we’re strangers. At least to me you are. I don’t understand why you’re helping me.”

“I found out what the Lady Morgana did to you, and I came here as soon as I could. I felt you deserved my help. Though I cannot stop your death, I want to help you in any small way I can. I don’t like the Lady Morgana either. I hate that she has cut your life short like this, but maybe, hopefully, something good can come out of your tragedy.”

Mordred nodded. “We’ll see,” he answered him, feeling rather doubtful about something positive coming out of this mess.

“Good luck,” Char wished him.

Mordred sighed, rubbing his brow, and wrapped himself up in the Cloak of Invisibility. “Thanks,” he muttered to him, knowing quite well it was quite a pathetic ‘thank you’ but his impending death made him considerably bitter.

Char gave him a worried look, but Mordred was grateful he didn’t call him out on being rather terrible company at the moment.

“How do I get out quickly?” Mordred then asked. “I can’t use my magic to leave. Morgana did a spell to prevent that.”

“With the magic I gave you, you’re free to escape magically,” Char pointed out to him.

Knowing time was not on his side, Mordred summoned Char’s magic within him and left his prison.

He thought of being outside in the forest and he was transported there.

Char’s magic had succeeded in giving Mordred his freedom…for however brief a time he had remaining to live.

Mordred walked the better part of an hour to find the Faery Prince that Char spoke of.

Then he heard small voices nearby.

He knew he didn’t have to hide with the Invisibility Cloak concealing him. Still, just in case, Mordred stayed behind a thick tree and looked down – for these were miniature creatures – to see three blue-skinned, winged creatures harassing another magical creature. The blue-skinned creatures had green fingernails and deep red colored splotches dotting their blue bodies.

The one who was cornered by the trio was a Faery. While he had plain brown hair, his eyes were a startling golden color as Char had described him. Mordred guessed that with the golden circlet on his head that the Faery must be Prince Philip. At least he really hoped so.

He was growing weary of his walk as he began to feel Char’s magic boost lose power. Morgana’s deathly curse started to return and he felt the growing strength of it to his dismay. Mordred wished he had more time.

Hadn’t Char said after all that this prince would appear when someone needed his help? So Mordred had to have found him.

Mordred was tempted to help out the prince who looked tired, one of his wings was broken and Mordred saw something white dripping from the broken wing. Was it Faery blood?

He waited, deciding to listen in to what was being said.

“—looking for the Princess Clara?”

“Here we thought you lot was so clever…but to lose a five-year old little girl…” The creature shook his head in disbelief.

“This doesn’t concern you. If you don’t let me go in peace, you will regret it,” said the Faery Prince in a firm, threatening voice.

He stood up straight, and though he was injured, he still looked determined not to let his attackers get the better of him.

“Oooh, how frightening,” said one of the creatures in a high, teasing cruel voice. He wasn’t fooled. “Three of us and one of you…”

“The little princess is a part of your family, isn’t she?” Another of his attackers asked.

“I heard she was the daughter of the King of Thistlewood,” said the creature with a big skull shaped red marking on his back.

“I’m not interested in talking about this,” the Faery told them coolly.

“Someone’s being unpleasant today,” the same creature who had taunted him said, sounding amused. “Isn’t she your niece?”

“What does it matter to you?” The Faery shot back. “The three of you don’t care if she’s found or remains lost.”

“I expect it’s hard to find her if she did that funny trick Thistlewood faeries can do,” said the shortest of the three blue creatures, looking far too smug with himself.

“Can’t you bother someone else?” The Faery said in irritation.

“Not when we have you as a captive audience,” said the one with the red skull marking. He smirked.

“We know Thistlewood is a wealthy kingdom. Let’s see how much your brother is willing to pay for your life,” the teasing creature shot back at him.

“I told you. You better stay away,” said the Faery, still defiant and stubborn in standing his ground.

The three creatures crowded him, looking like they were planning to hurt him further.

Mordred knew he had to act now.

But then the creatures were thrown back before they could touch the prince.

Without a second thought, Mordred threw off his Invisibility Cloak and said in a loud voice, “Leave him alone.”

He saw the prince was moaning in pain, and worried about just how hurt the prince was.

The multi-coloured creatures looked at him and started chuckling amongst themselves.

“Time to go!” the funny-coloured trio of beings declared as one.

The three of them disappeared magically, small plumes of smoke left in their wake.

“Are you okay?” Mordred asked the Faery as he crouched down beside him. “I’m Mordred.”

The Faery sat down, wincing. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Those gremlins damaged my wing. I just need to heal it.”

“Okay. Do you need any help?”

“No,” he said. “I can manage,” he assured Mordred. A long moment of concentration and the injured wing was healed. “Were you looking for me? I’m Pip.”

“I need to find a Prince Philip.”

“I’m him. Sorry…I prefer Pip. What do you need my help with?”

“Well…I’m dying. A man named Char advised me to see you. So I wouldn’t die in pain. Truthfully I’d prefer a way to live, but whatever Morgana did to me can’t be fully undone.”

Mordred gave a smile that turned into more of a grimace. He was feeling faint and he was grateful that he was sitting down.

“You said a man named Char?” Pip inquired curiously.

Mordred nodded. “That’s right. Do you know him?”

Pip shook his head. “No, no… oh, you’re looking too pale.”

“The bit of magic Char gave me is losing its strength. Morgana’s curse is returning. I don’t think I have much longer.”

Pip flew up to Mordred’s face. The Faery prince was only about as tall as the length of Mordred’s palm from his wrist to his knuckle. Mordred returned to uncertainty of being dependent on such a small, fragile-looking Faery. Even if, yes, Pip had held his own against the gremlins, it still didn’t change the fact that he was small enough for Mordred to trap him in one hand if he was inclined to.

“How are you feeling now? Are you in pain?”

“No, I just don’t think I can stand without feeling dizzy. I’m afraid the pain will come back soon.”

Pip frowned, and then he waved his hand over Mordred’s face. “I can subdue the pain. There’s a cottage I can take you to. You don’t need to walk there.”

“I have an Invisibility Cloak. Char gave it to me.”

“I see… well, you can put it on. That’d be good. May I er…stand on your palm? To magically travel…”

Mordred answered by holding out his palm, and Pip settled upon it.

“You seem to be comfortable with humans,” Mordred noted.

“The human realm is one of my favourite places,” Pip told him emphatically. “Most Faeries are not much for humans. I’m sort of the odd one who enjoys spending time with them. I’m not positive why. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all that.”

“Ready?” Pip then asked.

Mordred nodded and he covered himself with the Cloak before Pip did his magic.

That night, Merlin went to sleep in a bit of a foul mood. Arthur had chosen a manservant while Merlin had been holding on to the hope that Arthur wouldn’t find anyone. That Arthur would reconsider his decision to keep his distance from him.

And yet Arthur had not backed down. The new manservant was named Stephen. According to Arthur, the man was quite amicable and not as infuriatingly dull as George had been. Of course Merlin couldn’t avoid getting into another argument with Arthur, irritated as he was that Arthur was following through with his decision.

He had left Arthur’s chambers wanting to punch something.

More than anything, Merlin wanted this mess to be over with. That this stage of Arthur working through the reveal of Merlin’s magic would end. Then they could both move on to cooperating to make Camelot the magic-allowing kingdom that Merlin had dreamed of for the longest time.

Now, Merlin was stuck with arguing with Arthur. It was terrible. Why did he ever let Gwen convince him that revealing his magic to Arthur was a good idea?

All well and fine for Gwen to advise him to do that. She didn’t have to contend with Arthur’s annoying behavior towards him.

Maybe in the future, Merlin knew he’d be glad for finally confiding in Arthur in this way. But the distant hope of happiness paled in comparison to the dark cloud of impatience and anger he felt now.

As all those thoughts pervaded his mind, he slept a decidedly restless sleep. He had a strange dream involving a young woman with wild, curly red hair and green eyes. Her eyes were not on her pale face but on the inside of her palms. Where her eyes should have been, there were stitches in place – the skin covering the area.

The sight of her face and her eyes moving normally but for the fact they were on her hands was understandably startling. Merlin wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed and back away, or to stay to satisfy his curiosity.

“Emrys,” the woman’s voice echoed as she spoke.

“Who are you?”

“A long-forgotten story,” the red-haired woman said, a sad look upon her face.

With the grace and poise of a Queen, she approached him in her long green dress.

“What do you mean?”

The woman was silent. Instead she pressed a finger to his lips as if to quiet him. She then put her hands over where her eyes should have been, the green eyes upon her hands now gazing at him from her face. She almost looked like any other person if Merlin could pretend her eyes weren’t a part of her hands.

“Know this, Dragonlord, the prophecy is dead.”

The woman kissed him on the mouth, vanishing soon after.

Merlin abruptly woke up in bed, wondering what prophecy the strange woman had meant. And if this prophecy was dead, then that meant it wouldn’t come true.

What if the prophecy was the one about him and Arthur building Albion? Was that the dead prophecy? Had Merlin messed up so badly that there was no hope of salvaging his former friendship with Arthur?

Would Arthur not make Camelot magic-friendly after all? What if Arthur had been lying to him all along?

Merlin rubbed his brow. No. Her statement was as cryptic as Kilgharrah’s. It could mean any prophecy. He shouldn’t conclude the worst. But she had told him about the dead prophecy, so of course that meant he was a subject of the prophecy, didn’t it? And therefore, the prophecy regarding him and Arthur qualified.

Yet he wasn’t sure why she had kissed him. Maybe in the end, she was simply a mad woman who had her eyes on her hands for some bewildering reason.

So he shouldn’t listen to her. Yes. That’s what he’d do. He had to be optimistic about what was going on with him and Arthur. It would all pass and Arthur would lift the magic ban as he had promised Merlin.

Char recalled his first time in the village of Ealdor.

Almost seven years ago, Char had gone there with his then three-year old son. Rilian had been ill. A villager by the name of Hunith had given them a place to stay and helped his son overcome his sickness…

_He sat beside his son as he lay on the only bed in the humble dwelling. Char didn’t want to intrude, but Hunith thought nothing of it. That Rilian needed to get better, and she could spare the bed so that he could rest in comfort._

_Char touched his son’s brow, feeling relief when the fever had broken. His forehead was only a little warm, showing signs of improvement. It was only a fleeting illness that children were wont to get. His son could survive this. He was strong._

_Rilian opened his eyes and smiled at him._

_“How are you?”_

_“Good,” he said. “But sleepy.”_

_“I’m glad. Go back to sleep now, Rilian. You’ll be all better in the morning.”_

_He brushed back some of his son’s blond locks that were stuck to his sweaty brow._

_“When will I be big like you?”_

_“In a few years,” he told him, knowing to a three-year old, a few years translated to a very long time. “You just need to be patient. But first you need to rest.”_

_“Okay,” Rilian said in disappointment and some reluctant resignation to the wait. Patience wasn’t a concept Rilian was the best with._

_Char kissed his brow as Rilian’s eyes fluttered closed. “I love you,” he whispered to him._

_“How is he?” Hunith asked as she came into the room._

_“I think Rilian will be recovered by tomorrow.”_

_“I’m pleased to hear that. He seems like a sweet boy.”_

_“Sometimes, yes,” Char joked lightly._

_Hunith smiled. “I know the feeling. My boy was the same way when he was a little one.”_

_“Thank you again for letting me stay here. I don’t like imposing, but I wanted to make sure Rilian would be all right. I don’t know what I’d do if he died.”_

_“One of the greatest laments is to see your child die before you do. I understand. I never want to experience that.”_

_“He’s the most important thing in the world to me,” Char told her as he held his son’s hand._

_“Of course he is,” said Hunith reasonably._

_She placed her hand on his shoulder._

_“It must be lonely to raise him on your own,” she said softly._

_Char looked at her, and he nodded. “Yes it is.”_

_“I’m sorry. It’s just – it’s been so long. I’ve been feeling lonely since my son left me a few years ago. While he was better for leaving, and I’m grateful that he’s happy where he is, I cannot vanquish my loneliness. I never realized how hard it would be to live alone until I could not avoid it.”_

_“Even with Rilian, I have felt the same way many times. You’re not the only one.”_

_“I miss things… I – I apologise. Nevermind. You’re only twenty, aren’t you?”_

_“Three years over that. What is it, Hunith?”_

_“I simply… I just want to be touched,” she confessed in an almost silent whisper. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask that of you. I’m an old woman, and you only came here for your son’s sake.”_

_Char stood up and faced her. “I don’t mind. And you’re not old to me. You’re beautiful,” he told her, sincerity in his words._

_Hunith put her hand on his cheek, caressing it. Char leaned into the touch. He let her take off his shirt and touch his broad chest. He kissed her, and she deepened the kiss as he gently maneuvered her to an area of the floor covered by soft blankets – what Hunith had been using as her bed. He was positioned on top of her, and one look from her and a, “Please do it,” persuaded him to continue._

_A small part of him was aghast that he was doing this with his young son only feet away. But Char couldn’t stop once he started, once Hunith let him. Sometimes he felt that he was going to fall into that great dark abyss…he was far from an ordinary man, and the loneliness he often felt was only partially abated by Rilian. By the need to protect him, to not fail him as a father._

A knock at the door took Char out of his thoughts.

He sighed, and went to answer the door.

Opening it, he was not surprised to find the Lady Morgana there.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Char said.

“Do not think I will easily forget the matter of Mordred.”

“I never doubted that.”

Morgana smiled coldly, the smile never reaching her eyes. She entered the room without even asking Char’s permission.

She pushed him up against the wall, one hand curled around his neck. “Don’t test me. You think you’re better than me, but I won’t forget that you’re only a whore.”

“Get off me,” Char demanded, his eyes flaring at her.

But Morgana didn’t heed his warning. Instead she pressed her lips to his, forcing him into a punishing kiss and then biting his bottom lip so that drops of blood fell from the torn tissue.

Char physically shoved her away from him.

“Leave now.”

“Of course.”

As she left his room, he shouted after her, “You better pay me extra for that!”

Then he swept his hand over his mouth to heal his lip with magic.

“Where’s the King?” Merlin demanded as he walked into Arthur’s chambers the next day.

He found a man with dark hair and brown eyes. He was sitting at the big table and looked to be in the midst of polishing armour.

“He’s at a meeting now. He told me he didn’t wish to see you.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Merlin muttered under his breath. Then he redirected his attention to the dark-haired man. “Are you the new manservant, Stephen?” he asked.

“Yes,” Stephen said, nodding. “I understand the King is not on the best terms with you.”

“I’m his – well, was his manservant. Merlin. You do know that you’ll be his manservant only temporarily? We had a disagreement, and he wanted time away from me.”

“King Arthur did inform me that the position was as such. I’m okay with that. I still want to perform well, to leave with a good reference. I don’t wish to cause any further troubles between the two of you. The King told me you would try to make my time here difficult--”

“He said that? How dare he! I’m not happy with him, but to think he would believe I’d be that spiteful…”

“If I may ask, what has caused this row? The Queen told me that you and the King have been close friends for years.”

Merlin was supposed to dislike him on sight, wasn’t he? And yet he felt a desire to confide in him. After all, he shouldn’t fault this new manservant for applying for a position that Arthur made available. Admittedly, he had never quite fully realised how Arthur would take the magic reveal. He had expected a period of silent treatment, maybe, and exile was another thing he had considered. But for Arthur to get a new manservant and leave Merlin waiting for the magic ban to end left Merlin weary with impatience.

And that strange dream he had with the blind red-haired woman didn’t help ease his mind. He almost wished he could discuss his dream involving the dead prophecy. But now with Arthur’s need to spend time apart from him, Merlin decided to respect that request. He had held the burden of destiny and prophecy all these years, he could continue doing so.

Couldn’t he?

For now, Merlin decided there was no harm in talking with this new manservant. He sat down across from him. “The row was about something I should have told him some years ago. But I didn’t. We’ll resolve it, I don’t doubt that. Just unfortunately now things are unpleasant.”

“And that’s why he didn’t want you as his manservant?”

Merlin shrugged. “Yes. It was something he had every right to know. It was my fear…that prevented me from telling him sooner. The King requested time to come to terms with what I revealed to him. I just want him to be okay with it and we can move on. I’m sorry that he gave you the impression that I would make your life difficult here. I’m not one to bully people…I don’t want you to think that,” he assured him. “And I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I probably should be talking to Gaius about it. Sorry for taking your time. I’ll just go.”

“No, no. I don’t mind. To tell you the truth, I’m not planning on staying in Camelot forever. I was actually glad this position would be a temporary one. I hope you manage to resolve your riff with the King. I don’t want to come between either of you.”

“Well now I feel like a bastard for hating you before I even met you,” Merlin said before he stood up, planning to leave Stephen to his work.

“Merlin,” Stephen spoke up before Merlin walked out the door. “If the both of you are close, I have faith that things will work out between you two. And you and the King will be stronger for it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Not a problem,” said Stephen with a smile.

“Char, my dear,” the red-headed woman spoke to him, visiting him later that night.

“I’m working now, Merida,” Char told her.

“Yes I understand. Manservant to this King of Camelot, is it?”

Char nodded, and he informed her, “And I go by Stephen.”

“Hmmm…Thinking up a name and everything,” Merida said in a conversational tone.

“I know you’re not fully comfortable with this change,” Char said knowingly.

“Oh no no no!” Merida assured him hurriedly. She smiled. “I am accustomed to it as I need to be. I know that without the change our family would not have survived. Maybe the Fates were in our favour when they brought the doctor to our aid.”

“Maybe they felt they had destroyed enough,” Char decided.

This topic always put him in a dark place. He didn’t like dwelling on his family’s past misfortunes too much.

“Or they realized that we needed to remain for the future of magic,” Merida said. “Still, we were dealt a cruelty --”

Char put up his hand to halt her inevitable tirade. “Merida please. I don’t want to hear this. Just tell me why you’ve come. It’s Rilian, is it? Is he all right?”

Merida disliked that their once powerful family had been reduced to a shadow of themselves. They were long forgotten by humans as punishment.

Char himself felt this punishment distinctly. He had been orphaned when he had been only fourteen. That was when Lord Declan had come to offer him a place at his brothel. Char had felt so miserable then that he had just accepted as he had no other place to go, no one else who cared about him. His whole perception of the world shattered in one day when his father had abruptly left and his mother – who had been fonder of drinking over him anyway – left Char before sunrise the next day.

Now, he couldn’t help but think what had happened to him was a part of the punishment, the curse, which his bloodline had to live with.

Merida nodded. “I think the poor boy has a bit of a fever. It would be best to call the doctor and ask for his opinion. I believe it’s due to the pressure of Princess Clara maintaining her youth spell on Rilian and herself. Five years is a long time after all especially for children.”

“This might be a sign that it’s time that the Princess can return home,” Char hoped fiercely.

He had made some level of peace with his son’s odd predicament. He couldn’t be angry at this Faery Princess for doing this to his son as she was only just a child herself. Yet Rilian not having a truly free will was problematic. His son was subject to Clara’s whims most of the time.

Sometimes at the start of the possession, Char watched as Clara magically transported Rilian away when she felt Char would separate them. It was thanks to the blood connection between him and his son that Char was always able to find him. But to avoid having to search for his son, Char changed his way of dealing with Clara. He tried his best to accept her.

He knew that Clara had remained in Rilian due to fear. She was scared of her father’s punishment.

“Yes, that may be. It would be good to discuss it with the doctor all the same,” Merida advised him.

“I’ll do that,” Char agreed. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Not a problem. I know how hard it is for you to leave Rilian on his own,” noted Merida in sympathy.

“If I was able to take him to the Faery Realm to return Clara home to Thistlewood, I would have done it a long time ago. I hate that I can’t,” he said in frustration.

“Another unfortunate price we have to pay for the failure of the final battle,” Merida said, sadness lacing her words. “Hopefully someone who can take him there will come.”

“There has to be,” Char said, believing in that so strongly. He couldn’t afford not to. Rilian needed to be freed.

“I talked with the last Dragonlord in a dream,” Merida brought up. “It was quite interesting.”

Char raised his eyebrow. “I’m sure you were very reassuring,” he remarked dryly. Merida wasn’t known for her reassuring nature.

“Of course I was,” she said promptly. “I told him the prophecy was dead.”

“But not what prophecy.”

“I thought he’d assume it was to do with Mordred,” Merida said with such certainty. It was as if she couldn’t imagine someone else coming to a different conclusion.

“Yes, because that’s the only prophecy he has in mind, Merida,” Char said wearily. He was all too familiar with Merida’s mentality. “I imagine he’s wondering just what prophecy you’re talking about.”

Merida waved her hand. “No matter. I do think he would be a good choice to take Rilian. The Dragonlords were our strongest allies.”

“But what will take him out of Camelot?”

“Mordred’s death, Charmont,” said Merida, all matter-of-factly. “Aren’t you paying attention? His death will mean the death of that powerful prophecy. The moment it happens – every magic user will feel it deeply including Emrys. He will want to leave and investigate the matter.”

“His name is Merlin,” Char pointed out to her.

“Really? I thought his name was Emrys. He’s also Tancred’s descendant, isn’t he?” Merida mused with a smile.

“I think he prefers Merlin. And yes, I believe he is,” Char confirmed.

He and Merlin had a common ancestor in Merida during her first life. He wondered what Merlin would think of that after the most likely perplexing dream with her. Merida sometimes could be better with how she approached people – her heart was in the right place, just…she had trouble communicating things in the best way. “After focusing on the survival of our bloodline, it’s easy to forget it is not as dire as we often believe,” Char said thoughtfully.

“It’s a pity Tancred didn’t choose to live again,” Merida contemplated with a sigh.

Char knew if he asked how Tancred was doing, Merida would go on about him for hours. He’d learned his error the first time.

“I’m concerned about your plans to return to the Continent once Rilian has been released,” Merida continued on, changing the subject. “Do you find it wise to do so considering what happened? I know it hurts you to think of it, sweetheart.”

“That doesn’t matter, Merida,” Char shot back. Feeling agitated, he rubbed his hands over his face to calm himself. He looked to Merida afterwards, speaking carefully, “It’s more important that Rilian grow up where our family originated. The Royal Isle of the Blessed Hart will be a safe place for him. I’m not going to my childhood home.”

“I believe your old home was burnt down,” Merida recalled.

“I wish that would be enough to make me forget,” Char said bitterly.

“Oh, we all have our demons, our troubles, my dear,” Merida said softly, attempting to make him feel better. It worked a little bit. “I do believe that staying in a magic realm would be best for Rilian – he will be protected there. Rome is not what it once was centuries ago.”

Char nodded. “Yes.”

“I should take my leave then,” Merida announced.

“I’ll see you, Merida.”

She smiled and kissed him on the head before she left. “Good luck with Rilian.”

Char preferred to forget the painful parts of his past, but Merida bringing it up gave rise to recalling that old memory.

**Sixteen years ago…**

“Your father is gone,” his mother said as she stirred her drink with a knife.

“No he can’t be,” said Char in disbelief.

“Now you see that he truly doesn’t care about you. You have to accept that.”

“You’re lying!” Char accused her, knowing that his mother was the one to care little about him.

His mother put the knife down on the table and took a long drink from her goblet.

She laughed. “You’re only fourteen, child. What do you know?”

Char glared at her, and then ran outside even if the rain was coming down hard. He wanted to find his father, but in this terrible weather he knew he’d only get soaked through and fall ill.

He stood still, looking futilely passed the pouring rain and seeing nothing. “Why did you leave?” He whispered softly, at a loss. He had thought he could always depend on his father, and yet, now all he had left was a mother who’d be more likely to sell him for a good price rather than take care of him.

Char headed despondently back inside.

He noticed that his mother had taken off her wedding ring and thrown it to the floor, just before the door.

“Look at you, Charmont. All wet. You’ll catch your death,” his mother commented, but in a tone of voice that made it sound more like she meant, ‘I don’t care if you die.’

“I’ll just go to bed.”

“You better get out of those soaked clothes. Go stand in front of the fire to warm up.”

Still feeling numb, Char just followed her instructions. He removed all his clothes before the blazing fire, and he barely noticed his mother looking at him a little too closely as she handed him a dry night shirt to wear.

He went to lie down in his bed. He couldn’t sleep as he went over why his father felt the need to leave. Had he done something wrong to cause his father to leave? Or more likely in Char’s opinion, had Mother drove him away? But then why hadn’t his father taken Char with him? Why had he been left behind?

What could he have done to result in his father leaving? That hurt him deeply. He thought his father had loved him, but he must have been wrong.

He heard his mother approach his bed. Char was uneasy, unsure what his mother wanted when she sat down on the bed.

“Mother? What is it?”

She stroked his arm with her hand, smiling slightly.

“Relax, it’ll be all right.”

She lifted his shirt so that he was exposed. Char felt his face redden. “Mother, please…I’m tired.”

“Sssh…” she told him.

Then she touched his length, and Char felt ashamed when a wave of pleasure shot through him. He hadn’t been touched this way before, and he was only beginning to feel interested in girls and spending time with them. He didn’t want this. He never wanted this with his mother.

He’d never felt so small and worthless in his life.

“I don’t want this,” he spoke in a loud whisper. He tried to push his mother away.

To his relief, his mother got up off the bed.

“You’ll have to learn how to be a man sooner or later,” she said before she left.

Char cried into his pillow that night and it felt like a long time before sleep claimed him.

“Merlin, where are you going?” Gwaine asked him.

“I need to speak with Gwen.”

“You know you can talk to me if you want. I promise to listen.”

“It’s just…it’s a small thing. A dream I had…”

“And there’s something about the dream that’s bothering you?”

“Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”

“You’re frowning…like the world will end.”

Merlin gave a hollow laugh. He rubbed the back of his head. “You have me there. I – I learned in the dream that a prophecy was dead. But I don’t know what prophecy and I’m worried it involves Arthur…”

“You believe Arthur will die?”

“No, it’s – wait… maybe I was thinking of this in the wrong way…”

“What are you on about, Merlin?”

“I didn’t think! I should have taken it literally… someone will die…”

“What prophecy do you think it refers to?”

Merlin recalled the prophecy of the Druid boy, Mordred, killing Arthur. That prophecy involved death, but the redheaded woman told him a prophecy was dead now. It wouldn’t happen now.

Could this be that prophecy? The grim one between Mordred and Arthur?

If that prophecy wouldn’t happen and Arthur would be spared death at Mordred’s hand, Merlin knew he should feel relieved.

But there was something missing.

What would stop this fateful prophecy from taking place?

“Mordred… something is wrong with him. I haven’t seen him in years. He must be grown by now… I don’t know if I can --”

“Hold on,” Gwaine tried to regain his attention. “Who is Mordred?”

“He’s this Druid from my past. He was only a boy the last time I saw him. We didn’t part on good terms.”

Merlin was disconcerted when Gwaine started laughing.

“Oh my god. The dark look on your face when you said ‘we didn’t part on good terms’ and he’s just a boy.”

“Mordred was one back then, but now he isn’t,” Merlin said with concern.

“You think that this prophecy being dead business has to do with Mordred? He’s the one who will die?”

Merlin shrugged. “Maybe. But Mordred...is Mordred… he’s powerful in magic. I just don’t see him dying any time soon.”

“Hmmm, and you have magic too? Was he your magic adversary? As much as a boy can be?”

“Sort of… hey how did you know about my magic?”

“I can be perceptive. Don’t worry, I’ve known for a long time but I haven’t told anyone because I value your friendship. And I just can’t see you as an evil sorcerer.”

“Great. Arthur and Gwen know too.”

“Aren’t you and the King having a row?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, mate.”

“I’d better go. I just need more time to think about this prophecy. I’ll figure it out.”

“Is it so hard to believe that this Mordred won’t die?” Gwaine wondered.

Merlin nodded. “I think so. He’s fated to kill Arthur, Gwaine. A prophecy like that – I don’t see how it could be broken.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“If you haven’t seen Mordred in years, then you don’t know what sort of person he is today. People can change. What if the dead prophecy means that you give him a chance now – years later? Maybe he has changed for the better, maybe you’ll find he has no interest in killing the King. If you hadn’t given me a chance, Merlin, and believed in me then I wouldn’t be here in Camelot as a Knight.”

“You don’t know Mordred like I do,” Merlin said.

“No, maybe not, but you only knew him as a child. Give him the chance to prove himself to you as he is now – older and hopefully wiser. Maybe it won’t work out, but it might. You never know.”

“I’ll see,” Merlin conceded.

Merlin admitted to himself that Gwaine might have a point.

“How are you?” Pip asked Mordred.

“I’ve been better,” Mordred said.

As Mordred turned his head towards the window, he felt the sun warm his face.

“You slept through another night,” Pip told him from his place upon the small bedside table. He was sitting a tiny pillow, his back against the wall. His near transparent wings flared out on either side of him. “That’s good. Maybe you can make it through this.” He smiled softly at Mordred.

“That would take a miracle. I don’t feel pain thanks to your magic, but I still feel strange…not right. My head feels light…and I can’t muster the energy to get out of this bed.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“I suppose if this is the hand that Fate has dealt me, then I can only accept it. I’m glad for the lack of pain…if I can’t live, then at least I can be granted that mercy. Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“I was wondering…what the gremlins were talking about. Princess Clara. Is she family?”

Pip frowned.

“If it’s not something you want to talk about… I just met you, so I know I have--”

“No, no…it’s all right. I knew you would be curious… and I think…maybe…it’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“I feel like I’ve met you before.”

“If you have, then I don’t recall it.”

Pip shook his head. “Never mind. Must be my mind playing tricks on me. I’ve come back from a long journey and it’s left me out of sorts. I had to use a lot of magical energy to travel, so that’s the reason why the gremlins caught me, taking advantage of my weariness,” he explained. “Anyway what the gremlins said was true. Clara is my niece. Although she was more like a little sister to me. We were only five years apart in age, you see. And it’s my fault she’s missing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I gave her the idea – the funny trick the gremlins mentioned – that led her to run off and go missing. Tracking via Faery magic would have allowed me to find her…if only the trick didn’t prevent that kind of tracking. By the time I realized she was gone, it was too late. For the past five years, I’ve been searching for her. I know she’s here in the human realm. It was her first visit to this realm when I gave her the idea.”

“And you’re sure she’s still alive? Five years is a long time after all. She was five when she went missing, was it?”

Pip nodded. “I know it seems ridiculous… taking this long to find a small child. She couldn’t have gone far…but I think Fate is working against us. Until now at least. I finally found out some important details – the distant land I went to was a part of gathering that information. So now I can return home and tell my brother Bran that there’s a very good chance we’ll find her.”

“It must be a relief.”

“Yes it is. It has put a strain on my relationship with Bran. I was supposed to watch her that day five years ago and I failed. Not that my relationship with Bran has been the best since our parents died nine years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How did they die?”

“Now that’s a question I’ve been asking my brother since I was six. But it’s like speaking to a stone wall. He always waves me away and tells me he’s busy.”

“So you believe your parents died under unusual circumstances?”

“Well if they died natural deaths, I’m certain Bran would have said so. All I know is that Mother and Father were in the human realm when they died.”

“Then…” Mordred began, but then trailed off.

He wanted to suggest that then possibly humans could have killed them or judging by how the gremlins treated Pip, they could be culprits too. But he didn’t doubt that Pip had gone over those possibilities.

Pip sighed. “Yes, it’s not difficult to imagine what could have happened. I just don’t know who exactly is responsible. My parents were strong, they could both fight well. I don’t believe they were taken down easily. I know my brother knows. He’s eleven years older than me, so he always felt the need to protect me.”

“He’s more like a parent than a brother to you…something like that?” Mordred guessed.

“Exactly. When my parents died, Bran ascended the throne as King. He didn’t have time for me because of that. He gave me a companion my age to make up for the change. It helped somewhat – at least I wasn’t lonely. It was hard for me – still is – to make friends considering my odd interest in the human realm. Most Faeries have this fear, you understand, that humans will invade the Faery Realm and strip us of our Faery magic for personal gain. I don’t know why I feel drawn to the human realm despite that…I can’t explain it.”

“You’re not the only one who feels a strange pull towards something. It may not be quite the same, but I’ve felt drawn to powerful magical objects. I just had to find the object and to hold it at least once – to feel it in my hand.” Mordred recalled, remembering when he was younger and held that crystal in the palms of his hands. “If everything made sense in the world, then the world would be a boring place. And that’s not a world I want to be in, honestly.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” said Pip.

“What’s the trick then? That Clara did?” Mordred asked him. He felt tiredness seep into every part of him. Even though it was morning and he had a night’s sleep, the wretched curse Morgana put on him left him exhausted.

“I’m not comfortable talking about it… I just wish I hadn’t told her.”

“Fair enough,” Mordred said. Pip had told him more than enough already. He didn’t feel it necessary to know everything about this Faery Prince he’d just met.

“You’re lucky to have known your parents even if they died too soon. When my parents died, I was so young I barely remember how they looked like. I was raised by foster parents within my Druid clan.”

“My memory of them is getting foggier by the day though,” Pip said sadly. “I sometimes am envious of Bran because he has more memories of them. I remember my mother singing me to sleep…and that she assured me that my interest in humans was what made me special and I should embrace that. I quickly learned to keep quiet about humans around Father…he wasn’t as open-minded as Mother.”

“Never realized things in the Faery Realm were so difficult… then again, I wasn’t aware there was this entire other realm.”

“There’s more to us Faeries than just our wings and magic…” Pip quipped with a half-smile.

“Yes,” Mordred said with a sigh. “I think it’s time,” he declared.

Pip looked concerned, flying over to him and landing beside his arm. “Is there anything I can do? Are you in any pain?”

“No, I’m good. Just… I barely know you, but I’m glad you’re here. At least I won’t be dying alone.”

“I wish we had met under happier circumstances,” Pip said wistfully.

Mordred felt himself growing warmer. Too warm. Hot sweat came down his forehead, the moisture providing no relief. He felt some coolness to his skin as Pip used his Faery magic to combat the heat Mordred was feeling. Mordred knew he must look terrible. Pale, white as a sheet surely, and...and like death was clutching him in its grip. He could do nothing but await the inevitable.

Mordred began to panic, not feeling quite ready to accept his final fate. Was anyone ever completely prepared to confront death when the moment of truth came?

“Pip…she took my magic. It’s what made me who I am. I can’t die without it… what do I do?” He asked hopelessly.

He started to breathe in and out rapidly.

“Please, calm down. It’s all right. She didn’t take away your magic, not truly… it will always be a part of you. Here…”

Mordred saw a ball of white light form in the palm of his hand. Though a small part of him acknowledged that it was Pip’s doing and not his own magic, he didn’t care.

He was just glad to see magic before his eyes one last time. He felt a tear come down his cheek yet he didn’t have the energy to wipe it away.

“Thank you,” Mordred told him, managing a smile towards the Faery Prince.

He let his eyes close, feeling a small measure of peace at his approaching fate. His heart beat slower and slower and his breathing grew shallower. His end was coming.

He died.

Pip watched Mordred for what felt like a long time afterwards. He found it hard to watch this man who had seemed so good die in front of him. And there was nothing he could have done about it other than to ease his passing.

“I wish I knew why you are so familiar to me,” Pip said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the power to save you.”

He knew of the Lady Morgana, the High Priestess of the Old Religion. And he dearly wished that someone saner was in that position because what she had done… it was cruel. She had to be stopped. But he knew his brother would never allow him to fight against a human, risking his life in the process. Pip imagined Bran would ensure he remained indefinitely within the Faery Realm if he even suggested it.

For Pip, to be denied access to the human realm was a punishment he could not bear. There was a reason why he felt a pull drawing him to this realm. And now he believed Mordred had a role to play in that. What role exactly, Pip hoped to discover one day.

The morning after his talk with Gwaine, Merlin felt a strong sense of déjà vu when an invisible wave hit him like coming up against the wall. He placed a firm hand against a corridor wall, bracing himself to avoid from fainting. He flashed back to the Cailleach and the shock that left him faint when the gatekeeper to the spirit world appeared before him and called him, “Emrys.” But no. This was something a little different. This wasn’t Morgana tearing the veil between the spirit world and theirs. The Cailleach hadn’t appeared, so there was that small comfort that the Dorocha would not create chaos.

He thought of Lancelot. Merlin didn’t want Lancelot’s sacrifice to close the veil to be in vain. Merlin dearly didn’t want to see the Dorocha ever again after nearly dying upon confronting one.

Merlin couldn’t help but recall the message from the redheaded woman. There was a sort of peace that came with the sensation. A hush briefly fell upon the castle and Merlin wondered if he’d lost his hearing, the quiet was so pervasive and complete.

Like someone had died. Someone who was a part of a powerful prophecy.

Though he couldn’t imagine it was Arthur, Merlin just had to see him with his own eyes. His life was so entangled with Arthur’s and not even this row between them would dampen Merlin’s need to ensure Arthur’s well-being and safety.

He rushed to Arthur’s chambers and opened the door without knocking, the urgency overwhelming him.

He quickly walked through the room until he sighted the person he most wanted to see.

“Arthur, are you--?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

Merlin was relieved to see Arthur alive, sitting at his writing table. But then he felt awkward because of course Stephen was in the room as well doing his work as manservant.

Stephen gave him a small friendly smile, as if understanding Merlin’s behavior and not minding at all. Merlin believed that much after Stephen’s show of support during the conversation the other day.

“Sorry! It’s nothing. Just – glad you’re up. Hopefully Stephen didn’t have to physically drag you out of bed,” Merlin bantered, flashing a quick smile at Stephen.

“It was a near thing,” Stephen told him, playing along.

“Nice to see you two bonding at my expense,” said Arthur dryly. “I’ve told you many times, Merlin, your humour is sorely lacking.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I apologize,” Merlin said in a mock-serious tone.

“Well then. If there’s nothing else, then it’s best you go, Merlin. Find something useful to do,” Arthur dismissed him.

“Yes, of course.”

“Good luck with him,” Merlin said in a dire tone to Stephen. He knew intimately how Arthur could be difficult at times.

“I heard that!” Arthur exclaimed indignantly as Merlin swept out of the room.

After Merlin had left Arthur’s rooms, he reconsidered the possibility that Mordred was dead. Could that be the reason for the strong feeling that had near overwhelmed him? He had to check on Mordred. Yet that meant he must leave Camelot. He had to inform Arthur.

The problem was he didn’t know where Mordred was now or how he even looked like almost a decade later.

Where would he begin?

He went outside to clear his thoughts. He headed for the garden as it would be peaceful and private compared to the hustle and bustle of the castle. The best place to form a plan. And also he could get some fresh air, which his own small bedchamber could not provide.

Not long after he sat down on a bench within the garden, Merlin nearly jumped when he found a ghost suddenly appear beside him.

The dark-haired ghost was devoid of color other than shades of gray, and Merlin could see through him, the back of the bench visible through his clothed form. A set of robes covered him and he carried a staff in his left hand. The staff had a dragon at its head, the dragon’s tail curling around the top of the staff. Seeing the staff and sorcerer-like robes led Merlin to believe that this man was a Dragonlord – or had been when he had been alive.

“Hello. I am Tancred, your ancestor.”

Merlin stared at him. “I never – it’s nice to meet you, but why are you here now?”

“I wanted to tell you that magic will guide you to the person you seek. You are needed, Merlin, outside of Camelot. Trust the magic and you will not find yourself lost.”

“Thank you. You must have read my mind. I’m Merlin, by the way,” he added.

Tancred smiled. “Merlin is a good name.”

“My father…he didn’t tell me much about his family. He didn’t get a chance to. I don’t even know what time you lived in.”

“I lived five hundred years ago. I’m not sure your father would have been aware of me. A lot of time has passed.”

“I wish he was still alive, that I had the chance to talk to him more about being a Dragonlord and about magic. I have Gaius, but it’s not the same.”

“I understand. Only a Dragonlord can understand what that burden involves.”

“I’m just so frustrated now. I know I should be patient, but it’s – now is an in-between time I guess. I’m waiting for changes to happen after I revealed the truth. The wait feels almost unbearable. I always thought I was a patient person, but I suppose not,” Merlin said with a sigh. He put his face in his hands. Merlin looked up at his ancestor who was studying him thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. You probably have no idea what I’m on about.”

“On the contrary, I do try my best to follow how my descendants are doing. I want to make sure everything is going all right. It is one of the benefits of being a ghost -- being able to see how your bloodline is continuing on, how the times change. It can be both fascinating and overwhelming. I know about the magic ban in this kingdom and the truth you speak of. I see how difficult it was for you to finally confide in your King, but if it’s any help, I’m proud of you that you finally told him. I’m sure your King is grateful that you told him now and not when he’s lying wounded on the battlefield,” Tancred told him.

Merlin gave him a small smile. “Thanks. That does help. Why are you still a ghost then? I can’t imagine being a ghost for five centuries. Why haven’t you decided to move on yet? Is there some unfinished business you need to take care of?”

Tancred shrugged. “I suppose I have grown too comfortable in this form. I would miss getting to see how my descendants, such as you, are faring if I move on. I won’t feel like myself, you see, when I stop being a spirit. It’ll truly be a new beginning, and well, I’m one of those who are wary of change. One day I will go there, but not today.

“I hope Arthur will be willing to accept change. He said he won’t have me executed, so there’s that consolation.”

Tancred smiled. “Yes, that’s true.”

“I should be going, though I’d like to talk to you again and learn about you lived as a Dragonlord.”

“Of course, yes. We can speak again at a more peaceful time. I wish you well.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said. “By any chance, are you familiar with the prophecy that is dead? You sounded like you know who I was seeking.”

“I’m afraid what you believe is true,” Tancred informed him sadly.

“So I’ll be going to see a dead body?” Merlin concluded. That was a prospect he didn’t want to contemplate.

And that he had believed he’d have the opportunity to make amends with Mordred…well, that was no longer possible.

He was too late.

“You should simply let the magic guide you, son, and see what you find. It is not as grim as you fear.”

Though Tancred appeared to sound reassuring, Merlin wasn’t completely swayed.

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. I have to tell Arthur about needing to leave. It was good of you to see me.”

“Not a problem. I look forward to our next chat,” his ancestor said to him.

Merlin parted with a smile, noticing that Tancred remained seated at the bench even as he left the garden. It looked like he was waiting for someone.

Merlin shrugged it off and left the garden. Since Tancred was a ghost, he could probably make himself invisible to others unless he wished to talk with them as he had with Merlin. So there was no need to worry about people seeing him when Tancred didn’t want them to.

That conclusion made, Merlin braced himself for the task of telling Arthur he had to leave Camelot. He had to investigate this broken prophecy and if it meant seeing Mordred’s dead body, then so be it.

“Tancred,” Merida greeted him.

She sat down beside him on the bench. Tancred didn’t look at her but at the dragon head staff resting in his lap.

“I’ve been wondering why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not,” Tancred countered, turning his head to look directly at her now. “I was having one of my rests. I can’t be a ghost this long without them, you know that. I woke up not long ago. And I see you don’t have your mask.”

“I wanted to talk properly with you. The stitches and the eyes on my hands are only to add character, I suppose…give a little mystery.”

“I thought you disliked mystery after what you were put through following the final battle.”

“Tancred, if you’re upset about not knowing the truth regarding my identity until after death--”

“It’s not that, never that. I understand it was a part of the curse, that we all forgot your family’s existence.”

“I’m certain it would have been harder to choose to help me if you had known who I was. The cost you paid, all our allies paid for fighting a battle that was fated to be lost before it begun.”

“Merida, even if my Nymeria had died instead of only suffering a broken wing, I am not the kind of man to ever turn away a mother and her baby. Still, I admit I am grateful that my dragon did pull through.”

“Nymeria is a true warrior. How is she?” Merida inquired.

“She’s doing well. I am glad of her company in the spirit realm.”

“Maybe I can meet with her to find out why you make a valiant effort at not telling me the truth.”

“I don’t want to talk about this now, Merida. Please,” Tancred almost pleaded with her.

Merida stood up. “No!” she shouted, her red hair blowing like a wild thing as a wind breezed past. “I saw you speaking with your descendant. You were glad he told the truth and yet you cannot afford me the same! Please, my love, just tell me what it is that you haven’t been able to tell me all these centuries.”

“Not now,” Tancred said, standing his ground.

Merida feared he would fade away and depart, leaving her without an answer. And since he was a ghost, her hand would go right through him if she attempted to grab him to make him stay.

Except there was one thing she could do.

She grabbed his staff which was solid and she knew that Tancred would not leave without it. The staff was a comfort to him – as far as an inanimate object could be.

Merida held the staff away from him. “Tell me now or I will not give you back your staff.”

“Merida, we’re too old for this.”

She swept an errant lock of red hair behind her ear. “We’re never too old for the truth.”

“I’m just going to go,” Tancred said, defeated.

Merida was shocked. “But your staff! Seriously, Tancred. Is the truth really that bad? I was your wife, I bore you a child and let you be a father to my own because you were a good man and I loved you. And I still love you. So please, just help me understand. I won’t think any less of you.”

She knelt down in front of him, setting the staff on his lap as a peace gesture.

Tancred looked unhappy about this corner she’d put him into. But Merida would not back down. It had been too many centuries to let this secret continue any longer.

“After I died, I learned of a prophecy that we were meant to have a child together. That if something should happen to wipe out the Dragonlords, that my bloodline would be protected and survive. And that you would help me with this.” Tancred explained, unhappiness seeping into his words.

“You thought I was with you only because of a prophecy?” Merida asked.

Tancred nodded sullenly.

“Tancred, I swear to you I did not know of that prophecy when I met you or any time while I was with you. I made love to you because you were so good to me and to my son. And the thought of sharing this love, to create a child with you, filled me with joy. I carried your – our – child for nine months because I loved you. Valerius – he was dear to me, but I had to marry him. With you, I wanted to be with you. I had well and truly fallen in love with you. Please believe me.”

For some seemingly long tense moments, Tancred was quiet, his expression revealing little. Then he closed his eyes and when he opened them, Merida saw him solidify and color came back into his features and into his robes.

“I believe you,” he said. “It takes a lot of energy to maintain this solid form, but…I just…”

Merida didn’t need further explanation. She stood up and grabbed his face, kissing him full on the mouth and he responded in kind.

“You’re cold,” Merida remarked as they broke for breath.

“I am dead after all,” he retorted with a smile.

Merida smiled back, sticking her fingers in his dark locks. Soon, the pair both vanished from the garden.

“Did you know this would happen?” Mordred said quietly to Pip.

Pip shook his head. “Everyone dies differently… and you have unfinished business. You’re not the first to become a ghost. I’m not an expert on the afterlife, but at least now you have the chance to--”

“Make Morgana pay,” Mordred finished with a fierceness that almost scared him.

“There are rules, I think… I don’t believe you can just go and kill her now. You should focus now on adjusting to your new form. Committing a murder is a big thing, especially against someone like Morgana.”

“This isn’t murder, Pip. What she did to me was, but I only seek justice. Before she decides to put another enemy of hers through the same misery and suffering she put me through. I won’t have someone else’s magic ripped away from them on her orders.”

“It’s a noble cause… but you’re angry, Mordred. You’re in no state to go after Morgana. You need to--”

“—adjust, I know.”

“You’re not flesh and blood any longer. You may have lost your life, but there is always a silver lining. Not all is lost.”

Mordred tried to give Pip a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough. I appreciate it.”

Pip looked very uneasy about leaving Mordred.

“Promise me you’ll make sure you find someone to help you,” Pip told him earnestly. “Or hopefully a fellow spirit will visit you. I think that’s how it works. Do your best to follow their advice. They’ll steer you in the right direction.”

“As long as I get my revenge one day, then I’ll do whatever I need to,” Mordred said confidently.

“My brother is calling me to return home through our mental link. I have to go. Good luck. I hope to see you again,” Pip said.

“I hope so too.”

And with Pip’s departure, Mordred was alone in the cottage facing his dead body on the bed. He contemplated touching his body, maybe just his hand to see how it felt. It must be cold now, shouldn’t it? All dead bodies were cold. Warmth only came with life. Looking at his transparent hands, Mordred wondered why he should even bother. It wouldn’t work. He swept his hand over the bedside table and it went through the furniture all too easily. It was an unpleasant reminder that everything had changed for him now.

If he had tried to touch the flesh of his hand, he wouldn’t be able to feel it and he might not even know if it was cold or not. Looking at his body was hard enough. But to go even closer and grasp what once was his hand was unimaginably painful. It would make his death a reality.

He just wanted to pretend for a little while longer. That he wasn’t a ghost and that he still had years of life to look forward to.

Yet the truth could not be ignored. He would never grow old, forever nineteen, and only able to imagine how his future would have unraveled. Regardless of what Morgana said, Mordred couldn’t fathom doing what she believed he would do. What some prophecy had dictated. Yes, he was sure he would become a murderer, but it would be Morgana’s life he would end. Mordred hoped Morgana was aware by now that she had given birth to her executioner by killing him.

Mordred wondered if another ghost would come to see him only after his body was buried…laid to rest. That sounded logical. Yet who would do that? Bury his body? He couldn’t stand to look at his body much less devise a way to bury it. And to lay his own body to rest just sounded so ridiculous in his mind.

He tried to pick up a glass of water from the bedside table. He frowned when it didn’t work, his fingers going right through the glass as if it wasn’t even there and he was simply touching air. Then his thoughts turned dark as he recalled the pain of the curse Morgana had put him through. Like hundreds of sharp needles piercing his skin, it hurt so badly that it was a trial not to scream from unbearable pain.

That was when the glass flew into his hand as if he had used magic to summon it. Mordred smiled. Pip had been right. He might have lost his life, but that didn’t mean all was lost. His magic had returned. It seemed that strong thoughts gave him the strength to hold things. He turned down the glass and let the water spill to the floor. Ghosts didn’t require food or drink to sustain them after all.

Catching sight of the Invisibility Cloak, Mordred concentrated on his hatred of Morgana. The Cloak came to him. He knew just what to do with it.

Seeing his dead body for a moment longer would drive him truly mad. He didn’t doubt that. So he swept the Cloak over his body, and it was gone.

Unsure what to do next, Mordred sat in his chair and tried to focus on something else. He wondered who exactly this Char was. He hadn’t missed how interested Pip seemed in Char when Mordred mentioned him. He just knew he was missing something…what was the reason for Pip trying to stop further discussion about that man?

Or was he overthinking this? Maybe dying was putting his thoughts into turmoil and making everything bigger than it truly was.

Still, Mordred just couldn’t stifle his interest in Char, a man who possessed magic and had access to this Invisibility Cloak, an item that Mordred had never seen before yet he thought to be valuable.

“Arthur, I need to tell you something,” Merlin said. “In private. I’m sorry, Stephen,” he added with a conciliatory look.

It was lunchtime and Stephen was present, serving Arthur. Merlin had come to like Stephen though they had only talked briefly. He didn’t want to appear rude to the new manservant when he seemed like a good bloke who was only doing his job.

“Very well. You can go, Stephen,” Arthur told him.

“Of course, My Lord,” Stephen said easily. He gave a quick bow, and nodded at Merlin. “I’ll see you.” His brown eyes seemed to lighten as they twinkled for a moment.

Merlin smiled at him.

Then Stephen left Arthur’s chambers.

“Hmm, should I be jealous?” Arthur mused out loud.

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin retorted. “He’s just a friend. Someone less annoying than you.”

“I see,” Arthur said.

“Have you figured out how to deal with lifting the magic ban?”

“Well I have had an interesting discussion with the executioner…” Arthur said lightly, and Merlin didn’t miss the teasing tone in his voice.

“You’re terrible at making jokes,” Merlin pointed out.

“Just tell me why you’re really here. There must be something else on your mind besides the magic issue.”

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out. “I have to leave Camelot, Arthur. On my own. If I don’t go and see this through, I fear I will regret it. I hate to leave you without my magical protection, but I have no other choice.”

“This sounds very important to you. Is it some sort of investigation into a magical incident?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, you can say that. Are you okay with me leaving?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine, Merlin. I can take care of myself and I have my knights. You’ve served me all these years that you deserve to do something for yourself, something you need to do instead of what I want you to do.”

“But Arthur, if Morgana… you can’t fight her magic with just a sword,” Merlin worried.

“I have Excalibur, don’t I? It’s not just any sword, is it not?”

“That’s true, but…”

“No, no arguing on this. You came here hoping I would let you leave, and I am. Why are you trying to convince me to make you stay?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…I want to make sure you’ll be all right. I would feel guilty if something did happen and I wasn’t here.”

“Please, Merlin, go. I understand your concern for me, and I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. You don’t have to feel guilty. I promise I won’t lay fault at your feet for something you were not to blame for. I am allowing you to leave and I accept anything that comes while you’re away. So please, do what you have to do. And good luck.”

Merlin bit his lip, still uncertain. But he knew in his heart that he had to find Mordred. Even if it was just his body, maybe he could learn what happened to him.

Char entered a room in an abandoned wing of the castle. He did a spell to lock the room making it as impenetrable as possible in addition to soundproofing the room.

It wasn’t the ideal place to meet with Matthew, but he had to stay in the castle as a part of his job. This arrangement would have to do.

“Good to see you, Matthew,” he said, turning around.

Dr. Matthew Stanton was a ghost, approaching 400 years as one. He had died 370 years ago from what Char recalled him saying. He was wearing his usual outfit of a dress shirt with a blue and silver striped tie with grey slacks – clothes clearly from the future though he died in the past. Understandably he would prefer the clothing of the time he was born in instead of the Roman wear he had to dress in when he’d time traveled to the distant past.

No matter that he was a ghost, Char felt that he was one of the few people in his life he could trust implicitly and be honest with.

Matthew smiled. “How are you?”

Char sat down across from him at the small table.

“I’m doing as well as can be considering the circumstances. Is my son okay?”

Matthew nodded. “I relieved him of his fever, but it’s the pressure build-up I am concerned about. Our resident Faery told me that she needs to release it, give it to someone else.”

“And I can’t help,” he said.

“No unfortunately not. The Faeries of Thistlewood blessed your family centuries ago with the spell to slow down aging. It would be a scenario of like interacting with like – they’ll cancel out and the pressure will remain unaffected or maybe worse – Rilian may be harmed in the process.”

“I worry Rilian will be forever linked with Clara even after the separation,” Char confided in concern for his son’s future. “I only hope my son can move on with his life and make the right decisions.”

“Your son has you. You’ll guide him in the right direction. I know you will.”

“I hope that proves to be true. So what can be done about the pressure? Wait for someone to pass by my son?”

“Preferably not a child…as youth spells can do more harm than good for them.”

“I know that all too well. I wish I didn’t. Having to move from place to place before people started wondering why my son was still so small. Questioning if I was feeding him enough, thinking I was a poor father… I just want Rilian to be free, and to live as normally as he can.”

“I understand. But with your lineage, a quiet life is not quite meant to be.”

“Yes I know,” Char sighed. “Anyway, I think Merlin may be the one to help with Clara’s problem. Merida was quite fond of the idea of him taking Rilian to the Faery Realm.”

“Merlin, you say?” Matthew said with an odd look on his face.

“Yes. Although knowing Clara, I fear Merlin won’t know what’s happening until afterwards.”

“Clara is still only a child,” Matthew reminded him gently. “She’ll be impatient. And she doesn’t have a lot of time before the pressure starts hurting her and your son. In more damaging ways than a simple fever.”

“Yes you have a good point there,” he acknowledged. “Still not the best situation to involve someone else, but my son’s life is at stake,” Char said.

First and foremost, he had to ensure his son would be all right and survive into adulthood.

“Merida told me that you saw my father before he died.”

“I don’t know, Char. This isn’t really the best time to--”

“He was my father, Matthew,” Char said firmly. “I need to know. Please.”

“I just can’t. It’s difficult to talk about,” Matthew stressed.

“You don’t have to tell me everything now,” Char told him. “Just…after I found out my father killed himself instead of being there for me, I was so angry. I couldn’t bear to hear any more about him. Yet now I think it’s time to try to let go of that anger. No matter how hard that may be.”

“Phineas was a broken man. He was a happy child from what I saw. I had high hopes for him. Yet when he learned the truth about his ancestry from his father, about what he had to do and how everyone had forgotten the truth…it planted a poisonous seed within him. It grew and grew…and he just couldn’t cope with it. He felt that--”

“—no one cared. No one would see him for his true identity. All these responsibilities and the need to keep the bloodline going, and no one could know his true importance to the world. I’ve struggled with the same issues. I wish my father could have dealt with it better.”

“He tried, Charmont. Phineas told me that he wished more than anything that he didn’t have to pretend anymore. That he wished he had that feeling of wanting to be a father, but he could only feel a hole. He loved you, Char, but he felt you deserved better. Leaving you with your mother was the hardest thing he had to do.”

“He knew what Mother was like and that she would leave me too. I hate that even being aware of that, he still did what he did. I felt the same hurt and unhappiness when I learned the truth, but I didn’t let it break me,” said Char, his voice fierce as he spoke.

Then he mused thoughtfully, “If there’s one good thing my father did, it’s to give me the desire not to be like him. When Rilian was born, Ophelia gave her life to bring him into the world. I couldn’t let her down by not taking care of our child. And sometimes I can’t help but regret being with her because she was only fifteen… Ophelia was--”

“—a force of nature?”

Char smiled. “Yes, that’s a good way to describe her.”

He remembered his first meeting with Ophelia after accidentally seeing her bathing naked in a lake. While he had quickly retreated, she had seen him looking at her and had caught up with him. Fortunately she had a dress on by then. Char tried to leave her as politely as he could. He’d been nineteen then and he could tell she was rather young and it was best that he get as far away from her as possible.

Yet Ophelia wouldn’t back down and Char had wanted to laugh thinking that Merida would like her. He had kissed her on the cheek. She had smiled in return, a look of bemusement on her face like she’d wanted more than a small kiss, he remembered. He had walked away from her hoping that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t as Char couldn’t help but be drawn to her and he let her in and started a relationship – albeit a rather brief yet passionate one – with her.

With her blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face and her very blue eyes, her beauty left him wondering if she was even real or a living dream he’d fallen into. Ophelia had never been too forthcoming about her family. She had been on her own, a drifting dreamer, and Char had been led to believe she was an orphan.

There would never be another like her.

“I should go. The King will be wondering where I am,” Char announced.

“Yes, I understand. We’ll talk more at another time. Good luck with your job,” Matthew wished him.

“Thanks. I don’t want to pressure you, Matthew. If it’s hard for you to talk about that final meeting…”

“It will never get easier, but you are right. You deserve to know. When things quiet down for you, I’ll tell you about it. I promise.”

“I appreciate that,” Char said, and nodding at him, he left the room.

Matthew departed, vanishing away, shortly afterwards.

In Matthew’s room in the ghostly realm, he had an unexpected visitor.

“Tancred, how are you?”

“Good. Good. Was this your son?” Tancred asked him.

He held a photo frame containing a photo of Matthew with his son Colin.

Matthew nodded, taking the photo from him.

“I sort of see the resemblance.”

“He was my adopted son…since he was two or three.”

“Ah. Do you miss him?”

“Every single day,” Matthew said with a sigh.

“Same with my own. Caspian. He was a little mischief-maker. Got it from Merida I expect.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Tancred smiled at him.

“What brings you here?” Matthew asked of him.

“Ah well, you see, my descendant, Merlin… he does not have a child yet. He’s getting older. And going by the prophecy…although you know how I dislike prophecies, I still want my line to continue. I thought since you were from the far future, you would be privy to helpful details.”

“Merlin will be fine. He’ll have a child when the time is right. You don’t need to do anything,” Matthew assured him.

“It seems he’s far more intent on serving his King than starting his own family,” Tancred mused.

“Well weren’t you more invested in spending time with your dragon over having a family?”

“Yes but that was what Dragonlords did…I see your point though. If you’re confident, then I’ll accept your word.”

“I don’t believe you need to worry, Tancred. The prophecy will hold and ensure Merlin continues the line without you intervening.”

“That is a relief. I look forward to speaking with him more, I have to say.”

“And how was it with Merida?”

“It went very well…” he said, trailing off and looking decidedly flustered. “Oh, I have something to take care of… I must go. I’ll see you, Matthew.”

“Good bye, Tancred,” said Matthew.

The Dragonlord stopped before he opened the door. “There’s a small gathering of those of us who have been here a while. You’re invited to come if you like. It’s tomorrow,” he offered.

“I’d be willing to go. Thanks for letting me know,” Matthew said.

Tancred nodded at him and left the room.

Matthew looked at the big holographic image spanning one wall of his room. It was of his old home back in the 53rd century, the old castle on an island in Scotland. It had become a home for him when at first he’d only bought it because the ancient castle spoke to his fascination with the long gone time of fantasy and myth, of castles, chivalrous knights and fair maidens. Of course in his time, living in the castle only gave reason for others to believe in his eccentricity.

He remembered when he had to explain to a then nineteen year old Colin why he had to go to Rome even knowing that there was a high chance he wouldn’t be able to return home. The perils of traveling that far back in time forced Matthew to accept that he may live out the rest of his life in ancient Rome.

_“You won’t see me graduate from uni,” said Colin not looking at him as he faced away from him on the bed._

_“I’m sure you’ll graduate with honours,” said Matthew._

_Colin didn’t answer._

_“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Matthew said quietly. “But I need to go through with it. I’ll make sure everything is in order and that you’re taken care of…”_

_“But it won’t be the same,” Colin pointed out, finally sitting up and looking at him. “You won’t be here. That’s what matters. What is more important than family?”_

_“I’ll tell you everything about why. You deserve to know, but you must make sure that you keep what I tell you a secret.”_

_“Okay,” Colin said, looking understandably curious._

_“Come on. I’ll make you some hot chocolate,” he offered. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.”_

Though the talk had gone well enough, Matthew still sometimes regretted leaving. He wished he had had more time with his son, to see him graduate, start his career, get married, begin a family… yet he was also glad that he did make the trip into the ancient past. The First Family, of which Char was the current reigning descendant, needed to survive through the centuries for the sake of magic.

For the sake of the world.

After all, magic was the beating heart of the Earthly realm and without it; the end of the world would come.

Merlin decided not to take a horse even if it would be faster. He could avoid the necessity of making sure the horse was fed and watered. And besides that, he felt the pull of magic now guiding him and nudging him to go by foot. As if the slower way was the right way to do this. Merlin wondered if he could try to use his magic to transport himself to his destination. Yet with no clear image in mind of his final destination, that seemed like a bad idea.

After saying goodbye to Gaius and Gwen, Merlin left the castle and was making his way into the forest when he heard Gwaine.

“Merlin, heard from the King you were leaving,” Gwaine told him as he caught up to him.

“I’ll be returning. It’s just something I need to do. And this time, it has to be on my own. Sorry, Gwaine,” Merlin said to him apologetically.

Gwaine put his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Ah no worries. Shame though. We haven’t spent a lot of time together. I’ve been missing our friendship.”

“Well we’ve both been busy,” said Merlin. “But I miss it too. When I get back, we can spend an afternoon together. How’s that?”

“I like that idea. Any chance leaving Camelot has to do with the dead prophecy you told me about the other day?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “I’m looking into it.”

“Good luck then,” Gwaine said, slapping his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin grinned at him and then he went on his way.

Gwaine watched him go until he couldn’t see him any longer.

Then he turned around to return to the castle. Yet he didn’t expect Morgana to be standing there in front of him.

“Hello, Sir Gwaine. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” She smirked at him.

“Morgana,” Gwaine nearly growled. He reached towards his sword to attack her, but she was too quick for him, voicing a spell that made him so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

He was fast asleep before he hit the ground.

The magic led Merlin to a cottage deep in the heart of the woods. He sensed death pervading the atmosphere of the cottage. Quietly, Merlin entered the cottage and found the bed empty when he was sure he would have seen a dead body there.

He didn’t understand what he was missing.

“It has been a long time, Merlin,” he heard and nearly jumped upon hearing the unexpected disembodied voice.

“Mordred?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he answered Merlin as he appeared sitting in a chair by the bed. Merlin could finally see him. “Grown up and dead. I would imagine you’re happy about that.”

“I’m not. I thought you were too strong to die… I never wanted to come here and see you as a ghost. Where is-”

“My cold dead body?” Mordred finished bitterly. “On the bed.” He reached out his hand and the Cloak covering the body was removed.

“What is that?” Merlin wanted to know.

“An Invisibility Cloak. Someone gave it to me.”

“I see,” Merlin said. He looked at Mordred’s dead body. “What happened?”

“Morgana. She wanted to kill Arthur herself and I was in the way of that. There’s a prophecy dictating that I was the one meant to kill him. Morgana changed that as you see since I’m dead and now wondering how to kill her.”

“I should return to Camelot then. Arthur is in danger,” Merlin said anxiously.

“I understand he’s more important than me to you, but since you’re here…I’d like it if you…”

“If I what?”

“If you could bury my body, maybe? Lay it to rest, however you would say it. I can’t stand it being here anymore.”

Though Merlin’s last time seeing Mordred ended on a sour note, he still felt awful for Mordred dying so young. Mordred must be the same age now that he was when he first arrived in Camelot. Merlin couldn’t imagine dying at nineteen – his life was truly beginning then when he had come to Camelot and met Gaius, Gwen, and of course Arthur – Kilgharrah’s words of destiny forever etched in his mind. Mordred deserved a proper burial.

Merlin still felt the urgency to return to Camelot and to Arthur, but this was important too. And maybe with this gesture he could make amends with Mordred. Gwaine was right. Merlin had to give Mordred a chance. He deserved it, especially now after being a victim of Morgana. Now he shared a common enemy with Mordred – Morgana. That was a start.

“Okay. I’ll do it. I hope it gives you some peace.”

“Morgana falling on my sword would do that more satisfactorily,” Mordred said grimly.

Merlin gave him a small smile. “I’ve felt the same many times. You’re not alone.”

Mordred sighed, and Merlin’s heart went out to him because he looked miserable.

“I’m sorry, Mordred. I never wanted you to die. Never thought it would be by Morgana’s hand. I thought she liked you.”

“Well she’s full of surprises,” Mordred said dryly.

“Yeah,” Merlin said.

Merlin turned back to the body and thought how to carry the body out of the cottage. He could bury him in the back garden of the cottage.

“Is there anywhere you’d prefer to be buried?” Merlin asked.

“As long as it’s underground,” Mordred said, sounding rather disinterested.

“Okay.”

Merlin used a spell to lighten Mordred’s body a bit to make it easier to carry. He was on his way to carrying the body out the door when he heard Mordred speak in a quiet whisper that Merlin managed to catch.

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said.

Merlin smiled at him. “Anything I can do to help.”

Merlin didn’t use magic to bury Mordred’s body. It would have been easier, but he decided death was not easy so why should the burying of the dead be easy?

He found a shovel and while it was hard with his muscles aching under the strain, Merlin was determined to continue going.

It took a solid hour verging into two, but Merlin was done and he made a grave six feet below the earth.

He wiped off sweat from his brow. It was a hot day. Or at least it felt that way after doing all that digging. Merlin wished for at least a cool breeze to relieve him. He conjured a glass of water for himself to drink from and soothe his parched throat.

Merlin firmly pushed Mordred’s body into the grave, feeling awkward doing so considering Mordred’s ghost was just inside the cottage. But Mordred had asked him to bury his body so he was only fulfilling his request.

There was no reason to feel awkward then.

He shoveled the big pile of dirt into the grave to cover the body. Afterwards, Merlin set a few rocks over the head of the grave and conjured different colored flowers around the rocks.

Merlin stepped back to survey his work, the sadness over Mordred’s death finally settling in.

“I hope you find peace one day, Mordred,” Merlin said.

Then it began to rain.

Merlin found a cave to hide out from the rain that was beginning to grow stronger. He was drenched by the time he slipped inside the cave, relieved yet shivering from the cold as the wetness pervading every pore in his body. He quickly tried to come up with the appropriate spell to dry and warm himself. All those years hiding his true magical nature had stunted his magical education. It was moments like now that made this unpleasantly clear.

He managed a weak spell to dry his clothing, but was on the verge of removing his clothes and just magically conjuring a fire for warmth.

That was when without any action on his part, he felt himself warming up and drying. Did the cave have some sort of magical spell upon it?

Only a few moments later and it was as if Merlin hadn’t been outside in the rain trying to escape it.

Really strange.

Tired from the trying events of the day, Merlin fell asleep within the cave.

When Arthur woke up the next morning he knew something was terribly wrong. Silence seemed to have fallen upon the castle. He didn’t hear servants going up and down the corridor.

He turned to his side to rouse Guinevere. He nudged her gently but she didn’t stir. Then he realized that he couldn’t hear her breathing. Her chest wasn’t rising and falling as it should.

“Guinevere? Guinevere!” Arthur almost shouted. He squeezed her shoulder. “Wake up, please.” He urged her, unwilling to believe the worst had come to pass.

He bent down to put his ear to her chest to listen for her heart beating.

It wasn’t. Guinevere was dead. Touching her limp hand, it was already growing cold. This was wrong. This couldn’t be happening.

Morgana. She must be behind this. Arthur went to the Physician’s chambers to get Gaius’s help.

On his way there, he grew more alarmed when he saw both servants and nobles slumped, fast asleep, in the corridor. Arthur guessed that his new manservant, Stephen, was under the same sleeping spell somewhere within the castle.

This was serious. There was dark magic at play and he steeled himself for the worst.

He now dearly wished he had let Merlin convince him to stay in Camelot. For Merlin had been right, too right regrettably. Morgana had decided to strike against him, against Camelot, the moment Merlin had gone. But how did Morgana learn that Merlin possessed magic? Yet that question had to wait as he dealt with the more worrying matter at hand.

Arthur had to admit that he sincerely wished he could have Merlin by his side now. He tried to stifle his fear of the situation. Morgana had something else planned for him if she decided to keep him awake.

But why had she had killed Guinevere instead of putting her in a deep slumber like the others?

Then not a moment later, Arthur answered his own question. Of course. Morgana always coveted Guinevere’s throne. Morgana wanted to be Queen.

And now unfortunately she had killed Guinevere, succeeding in what she had not been able to before.

If Merlin had been here, would Guinevere still have been alive? Arthur didn’t want to go down that train of thought.

He entered the Physician’s chambers and found Gaius slumped in a chair. He had been up early.

“Gaius!” Arthur exclaimed, rushing over to him.

Gaius didn’t wake despite Arthur’s shout which had Arthur fear that the same fate had befallen him as had with Guinevere.

He checked to see if he was breathing and if his heart was beating, and there was nothing.

It was too late. Gaius was dead.

Feeling very ill at ease and angry too at what Morgana had done, Arthur wasn’t sure where to go.

He decided to head to the throne room. Maybe Morgana was there sitting upon the throne she’d always wanted.

When Arthur arrived at the throne room, his guess had been correct.

“Hello, brother,” she said casually with a big smile on her face.

“You killed Guinevere and Gaius. You will pay for that.”

“I’m sure I will. But not today. Regretting Merlin leaving, aren’t you?”

“How did you know about him?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I came to the conclusion that Merlin was more than an infuriatingly loyal yet simple servant. Much more. All my attempts thwarted…and Merlin was Emrys all along! Of course the solution was to wait for Merlin to leave Camelot before striking. My new plan seems to have worked. How good for me and how unfortunate for you,” she said, smirking.

“I will stop you!” Arthur declared fiercely. He pulled out Excalibur which he had made sure to take before leaving his rooms.

He approached her, intently watching her every move.

Morgana looked unperturbed. “No you won’t. I intend to slow you down,” she said and Arthur wondered what she meant by that.

She yelled out a spell, directing it at him. It came at him so quickly that Arthur didn’t have time to duck or get out of the way.

Arthur fell to the ground. He started feeling different, his senses dulled and all his bones ached. He looked at his hands and saw they were wrinkled and covered with age spots.

Morgana had aged him about fifty years.

“I do wonder why people are so enchanted with the idea of the Fountain of Youth,” Morgana mused out loud.

Arthur glared at her from the ground. He clutched Excalibur with his right hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

Morgana magically disappeared without waiting for Arthur to answer her.

Arthur hoped Merlin would return to Camelot and fix this. He was out of his depth.

Slowly, he stood up, finding the effort frustrating and a bit painful. He needed to sit down.

He managed to get to his throne, his beloved sword falling from his grasp. Sitting down, Arthur felt far from comfortable as his mind swirled about what he should do. A small dark thought led him to wonder if he was going to die here as he sat upon his throne.

He felt so tired and everyone else in the castle was either under Morgana’s sleeping curse or dead in the case of Guinevere and Gaius. There was no one here that could help him.

Maybe it would be a good thing if he would die. Then he would be reunited with his Queen.

Mordred stood in front of his grave, Merlin long gone. Perhaps he went to find shelter in this rain. Rain that didn’t appear to affect him – he wasn’t even getting wet. The water just fell to the ground, his transparent form not receiving the water.

Mordred could understand Merlin not returning to the cottage. Mordred had been unpleasant company, frustrated and out of sorts as he was contending with his new reality of being a ghost. He was grateful that Merlin did a nice job with his grave though, even putting in flowers which Mordred hadn’t expected.

Maybe Merlin wasn’t so bad after all.

But as he looked at his grave, the weight of his death fell upon like a burden.

He was dead. His body was underground. There was no coming back from this. The finality of the whole situation hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Hello, Mordred,” said the ghost of a dark-haired woman who was wearing a purple and blue dress. “I am Freya.”

“Are you here to tell me what to do?”

Freya shook her head, smiling kindly at him. “No, I am here to take you to your new home. I come when the body has been laid to rest.”

“Do you know about the prophecy involving me? The prophecy that won’t come true now. I can’t help but think that I should be glad of that. I wouldn’t have wanted to be known for killing the King of Camelot.”

“I am aware of the prophecy. I am sorry that your death was necessary to release you from that grim fate.”

“So it’s a good thing that Morgana killed me? Because I would have murdered the King no matter what?”

“It’s a hard thing to swallow,” said Freya with a frown. “That was a powerful prophecy. The only way for you to be freed from its unwavering hold was by your early death. I know it sounds like Morgana did the right thing – to spare you from committing a terrible act. Yet that doesn’t make up for all the other awful things she has done.”

“So she deserves to die.”

“There are plenty of ghosts aiming to kill their murderers, but the anger and thirst for revenge consumes them until they forget who they are. You need to find peace, Mordred. You need to heal yourself instead of letting the anger take over. Trust me, you won’t be satisfied killing Morgana right now. Your emotions are too raw and I can see in your eyes that you’re desperately unhappy. Now you need to see that there is life after death, that it isn’t only about taking care of unfinished business. I was angry too, believe me, at the person who cursed me to turn into a beast and led me to be a menace to people. But I realized that too much anger was poisonous to me and didn’t help me feel any better,” Freya confided in him.

“Please help me,” Mordred said softly, turning away from his grave to look at Freya.

“Take my hand,” Freya told him gently.

Mordred did and they both disappeared.

Mordred found himself in a place called the spirit realm. He wasn’t sure what he had expected of this realm, of how his afterlife would be like but he hadn’t thought he’d be getting his own room. Or that the spirit realm was this whole entire other world that the living wasn’t even aware of. He did like that everyone in the spirit realm didn’t look like ghosts, the transparent shadows of themselves that they were in the world of the living. Instead they looked as they did when they were alive – solid and their clothing possessing color instead of dull shades of gray. Mordred could almost pretend that he were still alive if it weren’t for the fact that he had no urge to eat or drink or take a rest.

Freya had told him that the bed didn’t serve much of a purpose besides a place to lie down on. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, but still, to have a familiar thing like a bed was comforting. The walls were painted a pale green and there were paintings all around the room – focusing on nature and landscapes such as valleys and mountains. Mordred thought the size of the room could fit two people nicely and yet it was his room alone.

The four poster bed was best suited for royalty. Seeing this room and knowing it was his didn’t make Mordred instantly happy about his current situation. Nothing compared to being alive…really, this room felt like a consolation prize for those unfortunate enough to die and too conflicted to move on from being ghosts. Yet it was a very nice room and did help to ease the aching unhappiness Mordred was feeling.

Mordred left his room and found a young woman walking down the hallway. She looked to be a few years younger than him with blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore a white dress with tiny jewels decorating the bodice. A headpiece with a shining amethyst jewel in the center crowned her head. She was attractive yet Mordred felt sad for her more than anything else. She was dead -- younger than him and her life had ended.

“Hello, how are you?” she greeted him. “I’m Ophelia. I’ve been here for ten years. I haven’t seen you before.”

“I just came not long ago. My name is Mordred.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. The beginning is never easy. I was sad when I first arrived here. I still feel unhappy, sometimes.”

“What happened to you?” Mordred asked her. “If you don’t mind telling me. I was murdered.”

“Oh how terrible. I’m so sorry,” she said. “I died in childbirth. Yet my son lived so that’s what matters most.”

Mordred noticed the ring with an amethyst in similar look to that of her head adornment. The ring must have been her wedding band. She had married the father of her child.

“And you’re still here to keep an eye on your son?”

Ophelia nodded, smiling. “What about you?”

“Hoping to kill the one who murdered me,” he said, feeling slightly awkward for saying that because it was so far removed from what Ophelia was dealing with. But it was the truth, his truth, and Mordred had to have this goal in mind because it gave his afterlife a purpose.

“Oh yes. Of course. I hope that works out for you.”

“Thanks,” said Mordred.

Mordred saw a dark-haired man walk towards him. That must be Lancelot who Freya had told him about.

“Hello, Mordred, Ophelia,” he said, and kissed Ophelia’s hand in greeting.

“Good to see you, Lancelot,” she said, blushing.

“I should be going,” Ophelia said. “It was nice to meet you, Mordred.”

And then she seemed to almost float away from them.

“What was that? The kiss?”

“Oh I was only being polite,” said Lancelot.

“Couldn’t she get the wrong idea?”

“That won’t be a problem. She’s given her heart to someone else,” he assured Mordred. “I’m Lancelot as Freya told you. I’m here to be your guide if you have any questions.”

“What happens when you stop being a ghost?” Mordred wanted to know.

Lancelot looked thoughtful. “From what I’ve heard, you have a choice about what happens to you. Most of the time. Sometimes you’ll return back to the world of the living, becoming a part of nature – the trees, the land, the sky maybe even the stars. Others can be reincarnated as humans, animals, or other beings entirely.”

“Is there a time limit before they force you to leave?”

Lancelot shook his head. “No. The higher powers are flexible about that. Usually spirits are quite ready to move on once they accomplish their unfinished business.”

“Well I want to kill Morgana,” Mordred declared.

“There you have your reason,” Lancelot acknowledged with a nod.

“What is keeping you here?”

“I died twice which should be impossible, but somehow I did. I just need more time to make peace with myself…”

“I’m glad you’re still here at least. I wasn’t sure where to start in this realm. It’s good to have my own room though.”

Lancelot smiled. “I was once the same as you. The Lady of the Lake helped me to find my place here. And I know two spirits that I think you’ll want to meet. They’re just children, but I enjoy talking to them. Sort of nice…like having children that I never got to have while I was alive. Their names are Colin and Timothy.”

“Wait. Did you say Colin?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Strange thing about this place…those who died in the future as well as the past are here. Time works very oddly in this realm— a circle and not a line. So you can learn a bit about the future if you want. Of course there are rules to prevent you from revealing too much to those still living.”

“And so Colin and Timothy? What time are they from?”

“Colin died in 1942 and Timothy died in 1901. So that’s the--”

“20th century.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ll show you the way.”

After a long walk down winding corridors, they finally arrived at a wing that was labeled as the 1940s. Mordred saw a lot of young men his age and a little older walking past them.

“Is there a reason for that?” Mordred asked Lancelot, pointing out the notable number of young men. Most of them were frowning or just looked as sad and miserable as Mordred felt. Others were talking quietly with each other.

“Casualties of war,” Lancelot explained to Mordred. “There are things you learn in this realm about the future and the past that you wish you hadn’t. But it’s inevitable that you’ll find out. Curiosity can be a double-edged sword.”

They passed one kneeling man who was screaming, looking up at the ceiling, and unable or unwilling to let others placate him.

Two other men got on either side of him and led him away. “They’re all dead. All dead. Oh God. Oh God,” the distraught man cried out repetitively, the words becoming a broken whisper. Yet at least he allowed others to help him as he slumped in their hold, barely moving his feet forward.

“They’re taking him to his room.”

“What war was this? It must have been horrific.”

“The war was World War 2. It started in 1939 and ended in 1945. And as you can see, some like that man have found it very difficult to make peace with the horrors of war they experienced. From what I know, it appeared that this war was far deadlier than any battle fought in our time. I was a knight for about a year, so I should know.”

“What King did you serve?” Mordred asked.

“Well, I served Prince Arthur… he wasn’t King at that time as his father was still alive, but he was in effect acting as a King in all but name.”

“Huh,” Mordred said. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Freya told me Arthur’s half-sister killed you.”

“Something I wish I could forget,” said Mordred bitterly. “If there was or will be a World War 2, then that means there was a World War 1 before it?”

Lancelot nodded. “Unfortunately. In the same century too.”

They reached an open area where chairs and tables were spread out across the space.

“Those two are Colin and Timothy,” he informed Mordred, pointing out the two children to him.

They looked to be eight years old. Colin had dark hair and blue eyes while Timothy was blond with green eyes.

“Colin grew up in Ireland, in a city called Dublin. That’s why he has that accent,” Lancelot told him.

Mordred was familiar with Ireland but not with Dublin, so he assumed that was a city established long after his time.

Colin was reading a book while Timothy looked at the boxed set of books that he had.

“Not that one,” Colin said, peering at him. “That’s The Last Battle… you don’t start the series from the end.”

“But you took the one that you said was set during my time. I don’t know which book to take now,” Timothy retorted in a very proper sounding English accent. That led Mordred to guess that the boy came from a wealthy English family when he’d been alive.

“I’ll let you borrow it when I’m done. You can start with this book though. It’s a good place to begin too,” Colin said, offering him another book.

“The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe? Why is the title so long?”

“Why don’t you just read it?” Colin shot back at him.

“Why don’t you just talk like a normal person?”

Colin frowned at him. “Give me the book.”

“No, I won’t,” Timothy said defiantly, hugging the book to his chest.

Colin set his book aside, and he climbed up onto the table and made a move on Timothy. He quickly got up from his chair to avoid Colin’s clutches.

Somehow the boys ended up wrestling on the floor.

“And they’re usually so well-behaved,” Lancelot said.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Mordred said to him, amused.

“Everything all right?” Lancelot asked as they approached the boys.

The two boys looked startled and quickly pulled apart from one another. They stood up, Colin smiling brightly at the both of them while Timothy had a more neutral expression, smiling only slightly.

“Hello, Sir Lancelot.”

“Hello,” said Timothy.

“Colin, Timothy; I’d like to introduce you to Mordred.”

Mordred noticed the pair give him an odd look for a moment. Timothy looked to be mouthing his name as if to determine if it sounded familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you Mordred,” said Colin with a smile. “Are you from the same time as Sir Lancelot?”

Mordred nodded. “Yes that’s right.”

“How exciting,” said Colin.

“Did a lot of people die in the Dark Ages?” Timothy. “What with all the rats?”

“You’re not being polite," Colin told him, sounding disappointed. "Remember what some others said when you told them you were from the Victorian Age?”

“They didn’t know what they were talking about. The time of Queen Victoria was the most advanced age there was. The British Empire became the greatest force in the world during my time.”

Colin stuck out his tongue at him. “And anyway, the rats had to do with the Great Plague. That was in the fourteenth century and it was a result of--”

“Not interested,” said Timothy, holding his hand out. “I want to read that book please.”

“Since you said please,” Colin said. He gave the book to him.

“And you can read this one again. I know how much you like it,” Timothy said knowingly, handing him the other book.

Timothy went to sit down but Mordred could see him watching them all the same as they talked.

Colin looked down at the book, giving it a tiny smile, and then he returned his attention to Mordred and Lancelot.

“Sorry… Timothy is usually not like this. He just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get what he wants. But he can be nice, I promise.”

“It’s okay. How long have you been here?” Mordred asked.

Colin shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

“Time moves differently here like I told you. Sometimes I even forget when I first came here. It can feel like forever or just yesterday. You get accustomed to it,” Lancelot explained to him.

“Yes, that’s how it is for me. But most of the time I feel like I’ve been here forever,” said Colin. “Did you just come here, Mordred?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to you?”

Mordred didn’t think it a good idea to tell a child the truth about the murder, so he chose to tell a partial truth.

“I became very sick and that was it.”

“Colin was ill too,” Lancelot spoke up.

Colin nodded. “Scarlet fever, I remember the doctor said. They didn’t have penicillin when I was alive. I heard that it would have helped me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred said sincerely.

“It was okay…in the end. My mum was beside me…and the priest of course. I like it here. Death doesn't seem so scary anymore.”

Mordred had almost forgotten that Colin and Timothy were really the ghosts of dead children. It was so easy to pretend that they were still alive because they didn’t look like ghosts. He wished his own life hadn’t been cut short, but really the greater tragedy was children dying.

“I agree with you there.”

Colin smiled. “I hope to see you again, Mordred. It’s always nice to see you, Sir Lancelot.”

“See you, Colin,” said Mordred. Lancelot nodded at him.

And then Colin returned to the table. Mordred saw Timothy leaning over to whisper something to Colin, looking over at Mordred as he did so.

“Why did they give me odd looks when they heard my name?”

“There are these legends in the future. A fictional character by your name is a part of them. I’m in the legends too actually. They gave me similar looks when I first met them. Don’t think anything of it. If you think about the future too much and wonder what’s there, it can be overwhelming.”

“Hmm… and how did those two end up meeting? Considering they’re from different times?”

“It’s thanks to Colin. He’s a curious child. And because of that, he was more interested in making friends with children who were not from his time. And he found Timothy. I’m still hoping Colin’ll rub off some of his personality on him.”

“Sort of an uphill battle?”

“Not giving up yet,” Lancelot joked lightly.

Mordred couldn’t help but laugh.

“Good to see you with us, Sir Gwaine,” said Morgana.

Gwaine was unhappy to see that Merlin was here too. He had hoped that Merlin would not have been seen by Morgana. He looked miserable as two guards stood on either side of him. Gwaine could only assume that Merlin couldn’t access his magic in this place. Otherwise he would have escaped, Gwaine was sure of it.

“What do you want with me?” Gwaine demanded to know.

“What I want with you is nothing really. Just to simply witness Merlin losing his magic. Can’t have Emrys always preventing my attempts at killing my dear brother.”

“What have you done with the King?”

“Oh don’t worry. For now he remains alive. He is only incapacitated. You see, Noble Knight, I can be merciful.”

“I’ll never believe that. Where is he?”

“Safe in his castle at Camelot. Isn’t that right, Merlin?”

“You won’t get away with this,” Merlin said quietly.

“As they all say,” Morgana said with a smirk.

“But he’s right,” said Gwaine fiercely. “You know he is. One day you will pay, Morgana, for all the terrible things you have done.”

“I only seek justice for magic kind,” said Morgana declared.

“And yet you killed Mordred. You will regret that,” Merlin told her, warning her.

Gwaine was glad at least that Merlin was still willing to argue with her, that all the fight hadn’t been sucked out of him.

“An unfortunate but necessary action. He was in my way. But Mordred is dead now. He’s in the past.”

“Ghosts are real, Morgana. Do not doubt that he is sharpening his sword as we speak just waiting for the chance to get the justice he rightly deserves.”

“Shut up. You think you can frighten me?”

“I don’t think so. I know I have,” said Merlin.

Gwaine was feeling a bit lost since he wasn’t too familiar with who Mordred was beyond what Merlin had told him before. So it appeared that Merlin’s dead prophecy had meant the death of this Mordred. And Morgana, unsurprisingly, was the one to have killed him.

“That’s it. I’m tired of hearing your voice,” said Morgana.

With that, Gwaine watched as Morgana made her hand into a fist, saying a brief incantation before Merlin grasped his throat, unable to speak.

He glared at her.

Gwaine wished he had his sword with him so that he could stop Morgana from what she would do next.

She removed a big slug-like creature from a wooden box and the nasty dark slug jumped onto Merlin’s face.

Merlin made a feeble attempt to rip the slimy creature off his face Gwaine saw. But it was no use. The dreaded deed was done.

The slug dropped to the ground and Merlin fell to his knees.

“Merlin!” Gwaine exclaimed urgently.

Merlin looked at him. His face was far paler than normal and he trembled, looking the picture of despair and deep unhappiness.

Shakily, he stood up. He looked directly at Morgana. Gwaine wondered a quick moment why Merlin was not saying anything, but then recalled that Morgana had taken away his voice.

Morgana waved her hand. “You can speak now. And you can perform magic here if you have an interest to. I’ve removed the restriction spell.”

Merlin swayed on his feet, but he remained silent. He smiled a little to himself. Then he whispered something Gwaine was just able to hear as all his focus was on Merlin.

Merlin’s words were, “Make me,” in a defiant tone that surprised Gwaine. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he just had this feeling that something wasn’t right about Merlin. Besides him losing his magic of course.

Morgana herself looked a bit uncertain like she hadn’t been expecting Merlin’s words. The obvious threat spoken so quietly.

Merlin shot one sharp look at Gwaine, his threatening words to Morgana a thing of the past it seemed as he appeared very worried. Then Gwaine watched his eyes roll back inside his head and Merlin collapsed to the ground.

Morgana didn’t stop Gwaine as he immediately rushed to Merlin to hold him in his arms. Though he had little idea how to escape Morgana’s dark castle, at least he wasn’t alone. He was very concerned about the King and he hoped Morgana wouldn’t succeed in murdering him. And yet Merlin was the one here with him in need of Gwaine’s help and protection now.

Gwaine knew that the King would never forgive him if Gwaine hadn’t done all he could to protect Merlin. Of course Gwaine would do that regardless as Merlin was and would always be his one true friend.

After Merlin woke up, he decided to explore the inside of the cave.

With trepidation, he walked further into the cave enclosure. He wondered if someone lived here. Someone who possessed magic perhaps. A fellow, hopefully friendly sorcerer.

Merlin wasn’t expecting a small boy to be sleeping inside the cave.

He was left torn between waking the boy and letting him sleep. He didn’t know how the boy would react to a stranger approaching him. Then again, if the boy was on his own inside this cave, maybe he was tougher than most. Or he could have a mother or father who would return any moment as they attempted to brave the downpour outside the warm and cozy cave.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile a bit as the blond boy made him wonder if that’s how Arthur looked like when he was little. Thoughts of Arthur then made him remember the urgency of returning to his King. He had to rescue him from whatever Morgana had planned for him. Merlin couldn’t bear it if he came too late and Arthur had died by Morgana’s hand.

There was no time to spare.

Yet he couldn’t leave this boy. He felt it wrong just to watch him sleeping and sneak out before the boy awoke. The boy deserved to know someone had been watching him. It was the polite, courteous thing to do. Not to mention Merlin was curious about the magic within this cave and if the boy had anything to do with it.

So with that decision made, Merlin knelt down and nudged the boy’s shoulder.

The boy sleepily awoke, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He sat up, and then looked at Merlin. Merlin couldn’t help but think that the boy’s eyes were very bright. He’d never seen such a vivid shade of green before.

“Hi,” said the boy.

“Hello there. I’m Merlin. Sorry to intrude… I don’t mean any harm. What is your name?”

“I’m Rilian.”

“And do you have a mother or father? Someone who is looking after you?”

Rilian nodded. “I have a father and a grandmother and a doctor…”

Merlin wondered if Rilian was speaking the truth considering the last place a boy his age should be was in a cave. Where were these people that he spoke of then? How could they let Rilian stay in a cave?

“And where are they now?”

“They visit sometimes… but they can’t take me where I need to go. That’s the Faery Realm.”

“Why do you need to go to the Faery Realm, Rilian?”

Rilian’s eyes turned white, startling Merlin. “It’s because of me,” Merlin heard another child’s voice say. It appeared like it was coming from Rilian. Merlin swore that he could hear a fluttering of wings. “I have to go back home. I am Princess Clara of Thistlewood.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rilian’s eyes returned to their previous green. Merlin guessed from what he was seeing that Rilian was possessed by some kind of magical creature. “She’s a Faery princess. Her father is King Bran of Thistlewood in the Faery Realm. I think I may die if we are not parted. Clara is sorry for what she has done.”

“What has she done?”

“I was born ten years ago,” Rilian informed him.

Merlin stared at him. He looked too small for a ten-year old. He looked half that age.

“Clara possessed me five years ago.”

“When you were five.”

Rilian nodded. He bent his head, looking about to cry. “I just want to grow…it’s not easy for my father. We can’t stay in a village for too long as others wonder why I am not growing properly like the rest of the children. They could believe I am not being fed enough, that maybe something is wrong with me.”

“And Clara did this to you?”

“Yes. The Faeries of Thistlewood are very good with casting youth spells. Clara tried it with me, and it has left her and me unable to age for the last five years. She’s five too, you see. The problem now is that it has been too long… and that’s not very good.”

“What Clara is doing isn’t meant to last for a long time, is that right?”

Rilian nodded. “She’s giving me more control now because she knows she has to leave. She’s very sorry,” he said again.

Merlin never encountered something like this. He had to believe Rilian. He was a child after all – and he couldn’t leave him to potentially die. Going to this Faery Realm was another matter as Merlin hadn’t been aware there was an entire realm for Faeries. The closest he could come to that was Avalon where the immortal Sidhe resided.

He felt sympathy for Rilian – a youth spell was a blessing for the very old but for a young child like Rilian? He had had his chance to grow and develop and mature unwillingly taken away from him. And if this Faery Princess was the same age as Rilian, then the girl clearly hadn’t fully realized the consequences of her actions before she’d possessed the boy.

“I’ll help you and Clara,” said Merlin. “Would I be able to enter the realm if your father, grandmother and doctor cannot go there?”

Rilian nodded quickly. “Yes! You can take me. Clara believes it would be okay. I don’t want to go alone…you see…being the only human amongst all those Faeries. I—I’m glad you want to help.”

“I understand.” Merlin wasn’t sure what the Faeries could do to Rilian once Clara was released from him and returned to her family. Better for Rilian to have a fellow human, an adult, to watch out for him and ensure he returned to the human realm safe and sound.

“Do you or Clara know how to get to the Faery Realm?”

Rilian’s eyes turned white again. Clara was speaking now. “One common place to enter my realm is through the lake of the Lady. You need to drink shrinking potion though. All humans must be Faery size within the Faery Realm.”

Merlin nodded. “Okay. And the lake of the Lady?”

Rilian’s eyes returned to green. Merlin preferred him to speak. Clara taking over was an unpleasant reminder that this little boy had been possessed without his consent and was prevented from living a normal life as a result. “You know her I think. Clara told me her name was Freya?”

So Gwen’s dream was coming to life. He would see Freya. It had felt like a long time since he had seen her. She had given him Arthur’s immortal sword that last time. He wished he could see her under happier circumstances. Maybe Freya could tell him about how Arthur was doing?

Or he could take Rilian with him to Camelot so he could see with his own eyes if Arthur was okay.

“I do know her. We will go to see her, but first I need to check on a friend. It’s important,” Merlin stressed, hoping Rilian would understand that.

“Oh. Okay,” said Rilian.

“By the way, there looks to be magic in this cave. Do you know why? Is it Clara?”

Rilian shook his head. “It’s me… I have magic like my father, but my magic only protects me like doing a drying spell if I’m out in the rain too long. I can’t tell it what to do. Father says when I grow older I’ll be able to control it and do all sorts of spells.”

“Your father is a sorcerer?”

“Yes. A very good one,” said Rilian proudly. “I hope to be just as good when I grow up.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Merlin told him. “So you wouldn’t know why your magic helped me when I came here to escape the rain?”

Rilian shrugged. “My magic sometimes helps people it likes… it must like you then.” He grinned.

“Glad to hear that,” Merlin smiled back.

He imagined things would have been much easier on his mum if his magic had only protected him and not conjure hot flames at inconvenient times.

“Come on then. We should be on our way,” said Merlin. “Hopefully the rain has quieted by now.”

Rilian agreed, offering his hand for Merlin to hold. Merlin took the small hand. A wandering thought made him contemplate if this was what it would be like to have a son or daughter of his own.

He shook the unexpected thought out of his mind. Now was not the time to think about having children.

Mordred quickly slipped back inside his room. In the corridor outside his room, he saw what looked like Gwen walking alongside Freya. Gwen had died?

That wasn’t right.

Mordred doubted she remembered him as the last time she had seen him he was just a boy. She had helped Arthur, Merlin and Morgana to return him to the Druids. Thinking how unhinged Morgana was now, that memory seemed like a lifetime ago. To know Morgana had cared about his livelihood once, enough to thwart King Uther to save him from execution. It was inconceivable now that this was the same Morgana who had killed him.

Freya caught his eye and nodded at him. Mordred returned the nod, Freya resuming her conversation with Gwen. It seemed that Gwen was too preoccupied with her current change of situation. She didn’t even notice him there. Mordred guessed that she had died recently. The sad, forlorn look on her face matched how Mordred felt at times. Only someone who had faced death recently would look like that. Gwen had a difficult road to go, like he did, to make peace with dying.

Soon after they left, turning at the corner into another corridor, Colin came by. He held a cup of something in his hands.

“Hi, Mordred,” said Colin. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said, trying for a smile. Mordred led him inside and they sat in the small seating area, a round table stood in between the cushioned three seaters. They sat across from each other.

“It’s not easy getting used to death. Sometimes I wish --” Colin paused, hesitant, and peered down into his cup.

“What is it?” Mordred asked gently.

Colin shrugged. “I wish I had fought harder. I wish I had been stronger to fight the fever,” he admitted. “I just miss my mum,” he finished with a sigh.

Mordred saw Colin’s eyes grow wet, but the boy didn’t cry. After setting the cup on the table, he swiped at his eyes.

“I feel the same way too. You’re not alone,” Mordred assured him. “I wish I’d done something more, but it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.”

Colin nodded. “My grandfather is here too, actually... and that has been nice. I’ve asked him if I could see my mum here since people from the future come here too when they die. But I can’t see her I think. It’s kind of confusing. But I don’t think I want to see my mum in this realm because then that would mean she’s dead…and I don’t like to think of her as dead…”

“I’m sure she misses you too. I wish I had a mother and a father who was missing me now. But my parents were long deceased when I died.”

Not having as much time with his parents as he would have wanted was something that frustrated Mordred. He had been just a boy, and they were gone and all he had left were the Druids. Yet having a mentor adopting you wasn’t quite the same as having your own flesh and blood taking care of you. Still, having the support of his Druid clan was undoubtedly better than being left completely alone.

“My mum didn’t like to talk about my father… I’m not sure what happened to him. I had a younger brother and sister though, and I wouldn’t want them to be without Mum.”

“So you were the big brother?”

Colin grinned. “Yes.”

“I’m sure you were great at that.”

Colin nodded, looking enthusiastic as he seemed to recall old memories. “I was. They loved me. My little brother used to follow me around everywhere. I miss them very much too.”

Colin looked sad again, so Mordred decided to draw attention to Colin’s cup.

“What’s in there?” Mordred asked him, pointing at the cup.

“Oh, it’s hot chocolate. It has a sweet smell. Since we can’t drink or eat, it’s something I like to keep at least…when I smell the hot chocolate, it reminds me of when I used to drink it.”

“I don’t think I’ve had that. Or any chocolate at all.”

“Yeah I thought that would be the case. Was hoping you’d like to see how it smells. I always like to try new things. It may not be the same as drinking it, but this is close enough.”

“Okay,” Mordred agreed. He was intrigued. As he lifted the cup to his face, he could smell the sweet, wonderful smell of this chocolate. It was a shame he thought that he’d lived in a time where this sort of drink wasn’t available.

“Chocolate more common in solid form, but having it as a liquid and warming it is nice when it’s cold outside. It made the coldest winter nights bearable.”

“I could imagine that,” Mordred commented. He set the cup back down on the table. “Thanks for sharing it with me. How’s your friend Timothy doing?”

Colin gave a small eye roll. “In the midst of that book he ‘borrowed’ from me. He’s enjoying it at least. I left him to his reading.”

“And I expect you know how he died? Being his friend?”

“Yes, but it took a while for Timothy to even tell me. Some people are different and don’t like to think about how they died. I don’t mind telling people about my death because I feel like it hurts less not to keep it inside. And to be honest, I don’t quite understand why Timothy doesn’t like talking about his death. He just finds it a very personal thing that must remain that way. He made me promise to never tell anyone,” Colin explained with a shrug.

“I don’t really like talking about my death either,” Mordred told him.

“Yeah, it’s hard…sometimes I don’t like going into detail and wish people would just leave me alone,” he admitted. “Oh! But Timothy told me about being in India when he was alive. For almost a year. It sounded so exciting.”

“Where’s India?”

“Oh, I can show you. Do you have a globe?”

Mordred shook his head.

“That’s okay. I have one in my room.”

Colin then closed his eyes and a moment later, a globe with a stand underneath it appeared in his hand. Like magic.

Colin smiled. “One thing that’s nice in this realm is that you can almost pretend you have magic and make objects come to you. You only have to concentrate and focus.”

Colin set the globe down on the table. The globe spun on its axis as he looked for India.

“Good to know. Do you like magic?” Mordred asked.

Colin grinned, and he nodded. “I had a stuffed dragon toy when I was alive. My little brother called it, “Rawr” because that’s how he believed a dragon sounded like. I think he got it mixed up with a lion.”

“What did you name the dragon then?”

“My sister named it and the name stuck. It was Nymeria,” Colin told him. “And here is the country of India,” he declared triumphantly.

Mordred looked to where he was pointing, and then he listened as Colin talked about what he’d learned about India from Timothy and from books.

Gwaine didn’t know what to make of Morgana now. Why had she put him and Merlin in a room instead of the dungeons? Maybe she thought that since Merlin didn’t have his magic anymore and Gwaine without his sword, that there was no way of them escaping her clutches. The only door in and out of the room was heavy and locked from the inside.

Gwaine tried to kick at it, but the door wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t made from simple wood. He believed that the door was imbued with magic to keep them locked in. He had looked down from the window in the small room and he was shocked to see how high up they were. The ground could not be seen at all from where he peered through the window.

He didn’t consider himself afraid of heights, but whatever magic illusion Morgana used to make it appear like they were so far above the ground made him rethink his comfort with heights. He got a little dizzy just looking down.

So trying to escape from the window was not an option. Morgana may be mad, but she wasn’t a complete idiot.

Thankfully, Merlin had recovered from his fainting spell, but his mental state was a whole other matter. Merlin looked miserable and Gwaine’s heart broke for him. He left him alone, letting him lie down on the bed facing away from Gwaine.

“I can’t help Arthur,” Merlin said, hopelessness and desperate unhappiness heard in his voice. “What am I going to do?”

“We’re not going to be here forever, Merlin. Don’t give up. Morgana will not win this time,” Gwaine reassured him.

Merlin made a small noise, but he didn’t say another word.

“Merlin?” Gwaine asked.

He went over to Merlin and saw that his eyes were closed. He had fallen asleep. After his ordeal with losing his magic, Gwaine couldn’t blame him. His chest was rising and falling so at least he was still alive.

Gwaine was surprised when the door inexplicably clicked open of its own accord. A purple swirl of what Gwaine thought to be magical energy beckoned him to leave. What gave Gwaine that impression was the hand the swirl transformed into, a finger pointed at him and then silently directing him to follow it out into the dark corridor.

Gwaine was sorely tempted to follow, to escape this prison room, but he looked back at Merlin. He couldn’t leave him. Not to mention he couldn’t simply put his trust in this purple magical energy. He didn’t know where it came from, and if it was from Morgana and this was a part of her strategy that’d lead to his death, Gwaine wouldn’t let himself fall for it.

“I’m not leaving. I don’t know what you are…who sent you. And I won’t leave Merlin,” Gwaine said out loud.

He wasn’t sure if the swirl even understood him, but he didn’t know how else to communicate with it.

Then he received an answer. It wasn’t in words, but in a sensation. He felt like he was being told that the swirl could be trusted and that he would be interested in what the swirl had to show him.

Gwaine still was unsure, but somehow he began to feel that he could trust it. Or maybe he was so eager to leave this room, he couldn’t resist any opportunity to do so. And Morgana couldn’t be behind this. If she wanted him dead, she would have killed him already. No. The swirl of magical energy was not her work.

With that decision made, he returned to Merlin.

“Merlin,” he said, nudging his shoulder to get him to wake up. “I need to leave the room. Maybe I can find a way out of this place. Do you want to come with me?”

Merlin shook his head. “You go on without me. I just want to stay here.”

Gwaine looked at him oddly, not quite certain why he didn’t want to leave. He knew Merlin was feeling awful, but still, that didn’t seem like a good enough reason. He recalled when Merlin had said, ‘Make me’ to Morgana in such a way that made Gwaine wonder. Like there was more going on underneath the surface than he was aware of.

“Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

He followed the swirl then out into the corridor. At the end of the long hallway, Gwaine saw a man with curly brown hair arguing with Morgana.

Who was this man?

“I don’t know what you think you would achieve. That wasn’t a part of the plan. Did you really think you could take away my magic?”

“Who are you?” Morgana demanded.

“You know who I am.”

“You haven’t told me the truth. And I won’t pay you if you leave now.”

“I don’t want your blood money. Understand this: you think you’re playing a game with me, but it’s really the other way around,” he informed her.

Gwaine watched as Morgana’s hands trembled slightly. With certainty, the strange man unnerved her. Gwaine wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing for him. True, the man appeared to be against Morgana yet the discussion of Morgana taking his magic away led Gwaine to believe that his doubts about Merlin were not unfounded. It was too much of a coincidence that Morgana had tried to take away the magic of another sorcerer around the same time as she had with Merlin. Magic could disguise people’s true appearances, couldn’t it? It was not out of the realm of possibility.

“I don’t know how who you were able to keep your magic…it’s just not possible,” Morgana said, sounding so deep in disbelief. “I am the High Priestess of the Old Religion and you are no one. You do not have the right to speak to me in such a way.”

“That’s right. I am no one. And you can rest assured, High Priestess, that your slug creature won’t be harming anyone in the future. A mad witch like you should never have access to such a weapon.”

“You can’t do that!” Morgana exclaimed, furious.

Then Gwaine watched as the man whispered something in her ear. She grew even more agitated as the man stepped away from her and turned to leave.

He looked Gwaine’s direction briefly, his green eyes, bright as they were, flashing his way. Though he knew he wasn’t the target of the man’s ire, Gwaine couldn’t deny he felt somewhat unsettled by him.

Thankfully, the man turned away from him and walked down in the corridor in the opposite direction. Morgana still was clearly rattled by her meeting with the man, her hands were shaking and she was frowning, her face pale and almost sickly-looking. Gwaine wondered what the man had whispered to her. Whatever it was, it certainly did the trick in making the cold-hearted witch lose her composure and seem more like a scared woman.

Gwaine was able to return to his room without worry about Morgana catching him out. She didn’t look in any state to be on the lookout for escaped prisoners. The swirl of magical energy gave him enough light to guide his way.

When he returned to the room he shared with Merlin, he was surprised at who he saw there.

Merlin wasn’t where he’d left him in the bed. In fact, Merlin wasn’t there at all.

Instead, the green-eyed man from moments ago was the only other occupant in the room. The purple magical energy that had led him seemed to retreat inside the man, the man’s body glowing purple briefly to confirm that.

“Who are you?” Gwaine demanded to know. He instinctively reached for the sword at his belt, but caught himself when he remembered that Morgana had taken it from him.

“I understand you’re on edge… my name is Char. And here, I have your sword,” he offered Gwaine his sword, hilt first. “I expect you’ll feel more comfortable with it.”

Gwaine took it, his eyes narrowed. “You have magic. I saw you talking with Morgana. And she had tried to take away your magic but didn’t succeed.”

Char nodded. “No she did not.”

Gwaine held his sword, pointed end in Char’s direction. He was conflicted. Should he kill Char because he was a man who was a stranger to him? Not to mention he possessed magic too? That made him even more dangerous.

And yet, the man had practically declared himself an enemy against Morgana therefore making him Gwaine’s ally.

Char raised his hands, to show he meant no harm.

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine asked him.

“I think you have a good idea where he is, Gwaine,” Char told him. “It’s clear you know Merlin well.”

“I do,” Gwaine said.

He spoke in a defensive tone almost as if he needed to defend his friendship with Merlin.

“Good friends are hard to come by,” Char commented.

“Just tell me what you’re doing here and why you tricked me,” Gwaine said stubbornly.

He didn’t want to be left in the dark about whatever this man was playing at.

In the sitting partition of his room, Matthew sat with Tancred and Colin’s grandfather across from him. The wall painted with the lifelike mural of a cliff with the sea knocking up against it, a stone castle perched atop the cliff, was facing him. Thanks to 53rd century technology, he could hear the sound of the sea rushing up against the cliff and the fresh breeze coming from the water.

It was an image he liked to look at often while he relaxed. The image reminded him of home. Though it was not the same castle he lived in, the spirit of the picture was still there. He had felt it would hurt too much and make him homesick to have the wall showing his castle on the island. Instead, he hung up a small framed picture beside his bed of his castle home. Another of him and his son hung on the other side of his bed.

“Tell us about the First Family and the final battle, Matthew,” suggested Tancred.

Matthew gave him a look. “But you know about that.”

“Not as much as you. You’re the one who has been following the family all these centuries. I focus more on my descendants. And Colin is always up for a good long tale,” Tancred pressed.

He clapped Colin’s grandfather on the shoulder. The eight-year old Colin who resided in the spirit realm too had been named after this man – the father of Colin’s mum.

“That’s true,” Colin’s grandfather looked up. “Would love to hear that. I’ve learned bits and pieces about the family from Tancred here. It’s not enough.”

“Very well. If my audience demands it,” quipped Matthew. “Don’t know about long, but I could tell you the essential bits.”

“Go on,” Colin said. “This whiskey isn’t getting any younger.”

Being a ghost, he couldn’t drink the whiskey anymore; only sniff it for the smell. Despite that, Colin’s grandfather still liked to have a glass of whiskey to hold when he talked with others.

Matthew began, “Once long ago, there was a human family granted remarkable magical powers. The Fates and a council of gods and goddesses bestowed these gifts unto one human family to ensure magic would always be present within the human or Earthly realm. That magic was to be the beating heart of the realm and this one blessed family must survive through the centuries to keep magic alive.”

“Or else the world as we know it would end. An apocalypse,” Colin said.

Matthew nodded.

“That’s why the First Family was so revered and loved. Because we knew how important they were. Before the forgetting of course,” said Tancred.

“It was a logical decision to give such powers to a human family as the deities wanted humans to be in control of the fate of their realm. Over the centuries, unfortunately, the situation deteriorated for the family’s descendants. But until around 1 AD, the family was living richly and they were treated like royalty for all magickind. They lived around the world. From the Americas to Europe, Asia and Africa. One of the most powerful segments of the family was in Western Europe. The High King of Western Europe was one of the most respected leaders amongst magic folk. Caelius was quite popular if I recall from what I was told. I only began to help the family when Philip lived around 100 AD. Caelius lived during the time of the Roman Republic.”

“They received gifts from different magical beings when things were going well for them?” Colin asked.

Matthew nodded. “That’s what hurt them later on. Faeries, particularly, granted them numerous magical gifts. The Royal Family of Thistlewood gave the gift of youth for example, so that the First Family would age slower than normal. Dragonlords like Tancred gave them the ability to converse with dragons and have those big creatures respect them. It wasn’t the equivalent of being a Dragonlord, of course, as Dragonlords wished to keep that talent to themselves – inherited as it was from father to son. And they had every right to,” Matthew added the last bit when Tancred looked ready to speak his mind.

“But at least it allowed the Family to walk amongst the dragons and not fear they would be eaten; dragons being such proud creatures that they are. They received all sorts of gifts and blessings: beauty, grace, kindness, musical and athletic prowess…I could go on,” he indicated, waving his hand. “One problem began to develop in the form of the Dissenters.”

“The family who was second to gain great magical power,” said Tancred.

“Yes. And by 1 AD, the stage for the final battle was set. The High King of Western Europe, Valerius, did his best to gather his allies – mostly the Faeries, Dragonlords, Centaurs -- to aid him in the battle. The trouble is that he wasn’t honest with them even though he knew well that the Fates had turned against the First Family.”

“The battle lost before it had even started,” Colin concluded.

Matthew sighed. “Unfortunately yes. The population of Faeries suffered a major blow. The population within the Faerie Realm is still not quite at the levels it was prior to the final battle five centuries ago. Following the disaster of the battle, the Faeries turned against the First Family. They developed a rather anti-human stance and focused on protecting themselves in case humans came to invade their home realm,” he explained. “Still the Faeries knew that the First Family’s existence was vital to their livelihood too. After all the family’s survival assured the survival of all magic including Faery magic. So Faeries have had to accept the Family’s presence despite the betrayal. It’s an uneasy alliance between both.”

“And while humans forgot the First Family, non-human magical creatures including Faeries haven’t,” said Tancred. “Though now thinking about it, the Dissenters are the only group of humans who remember the First Family. As a reward for being victorious in the battle I guess.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” Colin spoke up. “The other factions of the First Family outside of Western Europe -- what became of them?”

“Those factions forgot. Also, outside of Valerius’s immediate family, the continuation of the First Family bloodlines weren’t tied to the world’s survival any longer. It was a decision made by the higher powers. They wanted to particularly punish the First Family for abusing their privileges and power. As well as believing they could win the battle even knowing the odds were against them. They put so many lives in danger in a needless bloodbath. The deities chose to have Valerius’s family remember who they were because Valerius was--”

“He’s Charmont’s ancestor?” Colin wanted to confirm.

Matthew nodded.

“And Merida’s first husband as well as distant relative,” Tancred put in.

“All that is true. Valerius was a good man who made regrettable choices. Unfortunately the strong disbelief that the Dissenters could defeat them stopped him from acting with reason. Since his misguided actions led to the greatest number of allied deaths, his bloodline paid the price,” Matthew paused, taking a moment to look at the mural opposite him, gaining strength from it.

Then he continued, “The First Family essentially became an endangered bloodline, always nearing extinction. Merida’s son, who was just a baby at the time of the final battle, became the single most important human being in the world. For it was with the boy, and only with him, that the bloodline of the First Family would continue on, ensuring magic survived and with that, the entire world.”

“And each descendant can only have one child? Except for when Merida had a son with Tancred.”

“That makes keeping the bloodline going more difficult. Also, a kind of curse hounds the bloodline, and still continues to even in my time of the 53rd century. The descendant can never predict what it exactly would be. Usually it’s some sort of unpleasant hardship,” said Matthew sadly. “And yes, Tancred’s son was the one exception. Merida was able to give him a son because the higher powers…”

“Didn’t want my line to die with me,” said Tancred. “They saw something in me that my fellow Dragonlords did not. Or maybe they felt my descendants would be important.”

“You were a good man, Tancred,” Matthew told him firmly. “You were a father to Merida’s son when he would not have had one otherwise. You helped Merida during a difficult time with the upheaval. Don’t look down on yourself.”

“Years of being disregarded is hard to overcome. Sometimes I still wonder if Merida made a mistake coming to me.”

“Tancred, I thought you talked this over with Merida. Didn’t you two make peace?” Matthew asked him.

Tancred shrugged, purposefully peering a little too hard at his dragonhead staff. “Yes I suppose we did, but I can’t vanquish all the uncertainties from my mind. Every time I see my descendants like Merlin now, I wonder what they think of me. That is, if they knew all there is to know about me. How weak and pathetic I am…”

“Maybe you need more time with Merida,” suggested Matthew.

Tancred twisted his lips, forming a small smile. “Possibly.”

“But from what you told me about Merlin, Tancred, hasn’t he been in a situation that has not made him feel particularly strong?” Colin brought up.

“What do you mean?”

“Hiding his magic all those years? Having to play a role that made him look a bit foolish when in reality, he was more powerful than his King? Do I have that right?” Colin asked.

“You do have a point there. I hate that he had to go through that,” Tancred conceded.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Matthew with a smile.

“So what did you and Merida talk about?” Colin asked Tancred.

Tancred looked confused. “…talk? Actually, er…”

Colin and Matthew started to laugh.

Tancred blushed crimson. “The two of you are terrible,” he said weakly.

Yet his lips twisted into a smile, accepting the friendly tease.

When Merlin arrived at the castle with Rilian, he found that he was unable to enter. There was some sort of magical barrier blocking him from going up the stairs to the castle entrance. Morgana’s work, undoubtedly. Merlin swore silently.

He attempted to use his magic to penetrate Morgana’s barrier, but nothing happened. The magic only bounced off, the invisible shield unaffected.

Merlin frowned.

“Do you need help?” Rilian asked.

“I don’t know if you can.”

“But I have magic too,” he argued. “I can’t tell it what to do, but I can ask it to do something. Maybe more magic will help…”

“Okay. It’s worth a try,” Merlin decided, shrugging. “Ask your magic to break down the barrier, and I’ll use my magic to do the same.”

Rilian nodded, smiling. He looked happy, possibly because it was exciting for someone as young as he was to do something grown up.

Rilian offered his hand for Merlin to hold. Hopefully the physical connection would strengthen their counterspell shot at the barrier.

“Are you ready?” Merlin asked.

He nodded. “Yes, and Clara wants to help too.”

With that, the two – or well three of them with Clara – concentrated their magic against the stubborn barrier. Merlin saw purple and little bit of white magic encircle Rilian as he and Clara boosted the power of the spell.

It was not long afterwards that the spell caused the barrier to fall apart. They had succeeded.

“It worked?” Rilian asked, his green eyes lit up, and a smile on his lips.

Merlin smiled back. “It did.”

He looked toward the castle entrance then back at Rilian. He wanted to see Arthur alone, but he couldn’t leave Rilian on his own. What if something happened to him? No matter if this little boy had caretakers, they were not here now. Merlin felt Rilian was his responsibility at the present, and if something happened to him and the boy’s father – another sorcerer who made Merlin apprehensive – blamed Merlin; he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Yet Rilian seemed okay being on his own as evidenced by meeting him in that way in the cave. And with this Faery princess Clara with him – or inside him – he wasn’t completely alone.

Still. Two five-year old children allowed to go off on their own seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

“Rilian, I think it’s best if I go to see my friend alone,” Merlin told him. “Yet I’m not sure this place is safe now. There’s a dangerous witch who may have harmed my friend. She may still be here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry!” Rilian said earnestly. Of course he was all too eager to be left on his own. Something he seemed clearly familiar with. And based on what Rilian said, Merlin could understand the boy wanting any opportunity to prove that despite his inability to age now, he could do adult things. “I’ll be okay. My magic will protect me, and I have Clara too.”

“Yes, but…it’s not the same as having an adult looking after you. Magic isn’t the answer to everything.”

“Oh,” Rilian said, sounding disappointed. “But I promise I’ll be very careful!” he insisted. “Clara promises too. I’ll meet you here when you return. I will be very good, I promise.”

Those were almost too many promises for Merlin. “Very well,” he relented. “Just if you go exploring, just watch your surroundings and be careful. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Not more than an hour.”

Rilian nodded, looking very obedient. Merlin didn’t completely buy the angelic look on his face. He remembered his mum telling him about all the times he did his best innocent expression when he promised her he would behave and be good. And that often preceded a forgettable magical mishap. His poor mum, sometimes.

Merlin sighed. He knelt down to Rilian’s level and squeezed his shoulder. “I trust you to stay out of trouble. And that extends to Clara too.”

“I understand,” said Rilian as sincerely as he could. He nodded again, more fiercely this time.

“Thank you.”

Merlin climbed up the wide stairs to the doors of the castle. He looked back once to see Rilian still standing there and Merlin imagined the boy would run off the moment Merlin was out of his sight. But he decided to trust Rilian and believe he would return with all his limbs attached.

He prayed Morgana or her followers weren’t anywhere near Camelot.

After entering the castle, Merlin was quick to notice that everyone was asleep. It was not unlike that time with the Knights of Medhir and Morgause’s sleeping curse being placed upon the castle. And poisoning Morgana had been the only way Merlin knew how to break the curse. He stopped that train of thought abruptly, very much not want to think about Morgana at the moment.

He arrived in the throne room, an eerie hush settling over the large room as he walked to the thrones. There, to his dismay, he found Arthur sitting in his throne with his head down. His sword, Excalibur, lay seemingly discarded on the floor in front of him.

Without a second thought, Merlin rushed to the throne. He knelt before him.

“Arthur,” he said softly. “I’m here,” he tried to assure him.

Merlin could tell something wasn’t right by Arthur’s hair being white and his hands appeared aged with wrinkles and dark spots. Morgana had put everyone else to sleep, but she had not given that same mercy to Arthur.

Of course she wouldn’t. Morgana hated Arthur as she coveted his throne and kingdom.

Arthur looked up at him and Merlin was taken aback by the change on his King’s face. He was aged beyond his years. Yet his blue eyes shone through as strongly as ever though Merlin saw the pain and deep sadness within their depths.

“I’m sorry I was not here for you. I will make sure Morgana will pay for what she has done to you. I will cure you, My Lord. I promise you.”

Arthur sighed. “She killed Guinevere and Gaius. I don’t know if there is a cure for me,” he said, his voice sounding older, gravelly like a cart going over a rocky road.

Guilt sunk inside Merlin like a weight. He had come too late. And now Gaius and Gwen were gone. There was no saving them. Had it been the right thing after all to seek out Mordred? Should he have stayed at Camelot?

“A cure exists for you, Arthur. I won’t rest until I find it,” Merlin told him fiercely. He covered his hands over Arthur’s.

“What about your magic?” Arthur suggested. “Morgana knows about you, but you’re more powerful than her, aren’t you?” he asked him, a glint of hope in his eyes.

“I can try,” Merlin decided. “I used an antidote but there’s a spell too that could work.”

“That ridiculous Dragoon?”

Merlin nodded, looking sheepish.

“You could have found a potion to help change your eyes. I knew they were all too familiar. Idiot,” Arthur muttered.

“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to advise me,” Merlin quipped with a smile.

“I thought you deserved it,” Arthur said grumpily.

Merlin sobered quickly, remembering that Gaius and Gwen were dead. He hadn’t had the proper chance to say goodbye to them before Morgana took their lives.

Yet Arthur being alive was a boon to his spirits. He had feared the worst when he’d return to Camelot. But knowing Morgana, she wouldn’t rest until she had killed Arthur. This aging spell on Arthur was a warning to Merlin, that Morgana had marked him for death. Merlin feared if he didn’t lift the curse upon Arthur, then he could very well naturally die of old age – far sooner than he should have.

Merlin cried out the spell, “ _Edniwe min geoguð_!” at Arthur.

To his frustration, the spell had no effect on Arthur. He only stared at Merlin.

He repeated the spell several more times to no success.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin exclaimed. “The first time I used it, the spell didn’t quite work. Though the other times, I was able to succeed. If I knew exactly what incantation Morgana used on you, then maybe I can heal you. I fear the antidote I used may not work either unless I know Morgana’s enchantment.”

“I couldn’t catch what she said. It came out too quickly, and it was in a foreign language for me. There has to be another way…” Arthur said.

Merlin was struck with an idea. “I have to go to the Faery Realm. I could ask for aid there. Surely Faery magic could have the ability to help you.”

Merlin recalled Rilian telling him how the Faeries of Thistlewood were good at casting youth spells. And he was now a victim of such an enchantment thanks to Clara.

This was his best hope now. There had to be someone in Clara’s kingdom that would be willing to help Arthur.

“Why do you have to go there?” Arthur asked.

“I’m helping someone, this boy. He needs to go there to cure himself of an illness.”

Merlin decided it would be better not to detail Rilian’s problem. He wasn’t positive after all if these Faeries could cure a man cursed by an aging spell. Only that they could stop a child from aging as Clara had done.

“Very well. I trust you. If you believe this will help, I just ask that you do it quickly.”

“Of course.”

“Mind you, it’s not because I’m worried about Morgana coming to finish me off,” Arthur clarified. “It’s dying from boredom, I imagine. I can barely get up off this throne. My body aches too much.”

“Yes, I understand perfectly,” Merlin said.

He then took Arthur’s sword and presented it to him. “It’d be wise to keep this on your person, My Lord.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said to him with a slight smile.

The sword lay across his lap.

“I’ll see you, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I’ll be back with a way to cure you.”

With that, Merlin left with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to leave Arthur, but he had to. It was the only chance he had to save him.

Though it was a hard decision to make, Merlin chose not to see Gaius’s and Gwen’s dead bodies. After this was all over, he would pay his final respects and insure they received the funeral they deserved. Maybe they had become ghosts like Mordred and hopefully, soon they would find peace in the afterlife. While he missed Gaius as he had always been like a father to him, the physician had lived a long fulfilling life – at least Merlin would have liked to believe Gaius had been happy with his accomplishments.

It was more difficult with Gwen has she had been young, only Merlin’s age, and she had only a few years to test her skills as Queen. She shouldn’t have had her life cut so abruptly by Morgana. He hoped that Gwen could see Lancelot somehow in the afterlife – that their bond of friendship and maybe even something more could be a comfort to her.

Of course he knew that Arthur would not want to think about his wife with another man, so Merlin wisely decided never to mention it to him. Let Arthur come up with his own way regarding how Gwen would find peace in the afterlife.

It was not quite an hour so Rilian was not yet outside the castle entrance. Merlin decided to search the forest for him. Or maybe he would meet him on the way there.

But he was stopped in his search by a ghost of a man not much older than him. The ghost was devoid of color as Mordred and Tancred had been and he looked friendly, smiling at Merlin.

“Hello,” the ghost greeted him.

Merlin felt at ease with him right away.

“Hello,” Merlin replied, confused. Did this ghost just want to casually chat with him?

“I’m Valerius. And who are you?”

“Merlin. My name is Merlin,” he said, raising his eyebrow. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I have to find my companion… is there a reason why you’re speaking to me?”

“By companion, do you mean Rilian?” Valerius asked.

Merlin’s suspicions were raised. “How do you know about him? Did you do something to him? Because if you have…”

“I wouldn’t harm a hair on that boy’s head!” Valerius exclaimed, his mood swiftly changing. He looked furious.

The wind whistled around the ghost and made Merlin very uneasy. He wanted to leave the ghost’s presence as soon as he could.

“Either way, I need to find him,” Merlin said. “I don’t have time to speak with you.”

“No,” Valerius said softly. “I can still spot a Dragonlord. You’re Tancred’s descendant, aren’t you?”

Merlin shook his head. He heavily suspected that saying yes would not make Valerius calm down. He looked all too ready to hurt Merlin.

“Do not lie to me,” Valerius said fiercely.

Merlin felt a wave of magic suffocating him. It must be Valerius’s magic. Perfect. A powerful ghost sorcerer angry with him. It was just what he needed today.

“I cannot believe Tancred has allowed you to walk around without fathering a child yet,” Valerius noted, dismayed. “Do you want your bloodline to die with you, is that what you want?”

Merlin attempted to gather up his magic to push away Valerius’s magic, but it was a hard-pressed struggle. This ghost had a level of magic that Merlin had never encountered before.

“I have more important things to worry about now,” Merlin breathed out as Valerius eased his magic assault slightly to allow Merlin to speak.

Honestly, protecting Arthur all these years had been his number one priority. The last thing Merlin had given thought to was starting a family. Though he was not adverse to the idea. His short time with Rilian so far reminded him of how nice it would be to have a child of his own.

“It took you years to tell your King about your magic. I fear what you believe is important is incredibly flawed,” Valerius said. “Do you not understand that you are the last Dragonlord? Does that mean nothing to you?”

“I barely know you. I don’t have to listen to you,” Merlin countered.

“You. Don’t. Have. To. Listen. To. Me?” Valerius said very slowly, his words threatening.

Merlin felt Valerius’s magic more strongly now, and he was barely able to breathe.

He fell to his knees, clutching his throat.

“Valerius,” he heard Tancred’s voice say loudly. “Stop this right now,” he demanded of him.

Merlin felt Valerius release the magical pressure on him. Merlin gasped for breath, trying to get his bearings.

Tancred was by his side. He looked concerned. “Are you okay, Merlin?” He asked him, patting him on the shoulder.

Merlin nodded, rubbing his throat.

Tancred gave him a small smile. “Good,” he said.

He gently touched his head in a comforting gesture and Merlin couldn’t help but wish he had grown up with a father. He hadn’t known Tancred that long, but he felt safe in his presence. Knowing that Tancred was a long ago ancestor of his, an ancient patriarchal figure, simply made Merlin feel more protected. After all, patriarchs were usually ones to be wise and ever-knowing.

Merlin stood up, but Tancred placed himself between him and Valerius.

“He and I are both dead. You’re not, making you vulnerable. Just let me handle this,” Tancred told Merlin.

“Are you not going to listen to me too, Tancred?” Valerius asked him, sounding rather like a petulant child.

Merlin felt distinctly that Valerius was not completely of sound mind. His act at the beginning was well done, but the man could not hide his true self for long.

“Valerius, you should not be here. You know you are not well enough to be within the world of the living. You almost killed my only living descendant,” Tancred scolded him.

“Almost. Doesn’t matter when it’s almost. I just wanted to entice you to come…” Valerius explained, flexing his fingers.

“You could have just seen me,” Tancred said.

“I thought you were busy,” Valerius told him, shrugging. “doing things…” he trailed off.

“Well I was not,” Tancred said coolly, not rising to the bait it seemed. “And as I said, you are unwell, Valerius. I know it hurts you to be here in this world and not wanting your descendants through the centuries seeing you in this state.”

Valerius pointed his finger at him. “How dare you! How dare you! You have no right to bring that up!” He shouted at the other ghost.

“Calm yourself.”

“I hate you and your stupid dragon staff and how you--” he ranted, but then paused in his speech.

Merlin watched Valerius fall apart before his eyes. Tears came down his face and he collapsed to the ground.

“It’s all wrong. I don’t like it here. It’s all wrong,” he muttered.

Tancred set down his staff and then he went to sit beside Valerius, wrapping his arms around the other ghost. “Fix it, Tancred,” Valerius asked of him so quietly that Merlin nearly missed the words. He grasped the front of Tancred’s robes. Merlin heard Valerius mutter something under his breath that only Tancred could hear.

“Merida’s nearby, I’m sure. You can see her,” Tancred suggested lightly.

“Maybe. Maybe,” Valerius said non-committally. He let go of Tancred, sighing as he did so.

“I apologize for almost killing you,” Valerius spoke to Merlin.

“Erm, that’s okay…” Merlin replied, unsure how to answer an apology like that.

Valerius – or his ghost – was a strange man.

Then Valerius left them, disappearing without a sound.

“Who was he? When he was alive? I only know his name,” Merlin said, looking to Tancred for answers.

Tancred picked up his staff. “He lived around the time I was alive. It’s a complicated story regarding who he was during his lifetime. He was a good man who became eaten up by guilt that it unfortunately broke his mind a bit after he died.”

“He seemed to know Rilian… he’s this boy I’m helping at the moment. Valerius was adamant that he wouldn’t harm him.”

Tancred nodded. “Rilian is Valerius’s descendant as you are mine. He is just as protective as anyone when it comes to family.”

“That makes sense. And he mentioned me having to start a family.”

“Don’t pay attention to that. Valerius thinks differently, but that doesn’t mean you should follow his advice. Do what you feel is important. If that is protecting your King, then you should do that. Yet I would say that I would not want my bloodline to die with you. I believe you would make a good father, but you have plenty of time. So never mind that now.”

“Thank you. I agree with the bloodline not dying… I don’t want that either. Arthur is my priority now though.”

“Of course,” Tancred acknowledged. “Good luck.”

Before Tancred could leave, Merlin couldn’t resist asking, “Tancred, did you meet Valerius when you were alive? Or only after your death?”

“I met him during my life. We weren’t longtime friends or anything of that sort. We didn’t live close to each other.”

“And what was he like? Before the guilt overtook him?”

“He wasn’t perfect, no one is… but he,” Tancred paused as if deciding what he should say to Merlin. “I had far from the ideal childhood, and I admit I had very unhappy thoughts as I grew up. But Valerius was the first man to make me not feel…powerless.” Tancred finished, looking a bit sheepish, shrugging.

“But what about your parents? Your mum and dad?”

Tancred shook his head at him, his eyes sad. “I was an orphan for as long as I can remember. I had no mum to take care of me or a father to teach me how to use my inherited Dragonlord talent. I often wondered why the gods had taken them away from me and left me with other Dragonlords and their children. They treated me as a nuisance more than anything else,” he confessed to Merlin. “It’s all very unhappy, but my life had its bright spots. I died a content man. So that’s what matters most.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. That’s awful,” said Merlin honestly, feeling sympathy for his ancestor.

He often felt lost growing up without a father and then trying to navigate the world always with the worry about keeping his magic secret.

“I should go,” Tancred said, finality in his tone. Merlin couldn’t blame him. His ancestor probably wished he could forget the unpleasant moments of his life. “We’ll see each other again,” he assured him, smiling.

Tancred patted him on the shoulder. “I’m very proud of you.”

Merlin couldn’t help but grin in return. “Thanks.”

With a nod goodbye, Tancred disappeared too.

He found Rilian not long afterwards as he continued his walk into the forest.

“You okay?” He asked the boy.

Rilian nodded, smiling.

Merlin surveyed him and was glad to see he didn’t appear to have any broken limbs from ill-advised climbs up trees.

“I saw a stag!” Rilian told him, his eyes bright and his voice full of excitement. “Its eyes were glowing. It looked so powerful…and maje—something…” he stumbled over the word.

“Majestic, you mean?”

Rilian nodded. “That’s it. Yes,” he confirmed. “How is your friend?”

“He’s well enough. I hope the Faery Realm will have something for him.”

“Clara may know! What would he need?”

“He needs magic to make him return to the age he’s meant to be. He has been aged beyond his years by the witch I told you of earlier.”

Rilian’s eyes turned white causing Merlin to frown, but he let Clara speak anyway. “We do have Faery magic for that, but my father -- like other Faery Kings -- is not willing to help humans. Especially humans they do not know.”

Rilian’s eyes changed back to green. He said, “But there is Clara’s uncle, Pip. He likes to help humans. Clara told me though that her father has the final say on certain things Pip can or cannot do.”

“And something like helping an unfamiliar human would fall into the “cannot” category?” Merlin deduced.

Rilian bit his lip, and he nodded.

“There’s no harm in asking,” Merlin said with a sigh.

Rilian agreed, and they went on their way to see Freya with Rilian regaling him with stories of the adventures he had. Merlin had a strong suspicion that some parts were fantastical and made up, but he encouraged the boy to go on. It helped to keep his mind from worrying too much. He had to remain optimistic. He may not have been able to save Gaius or Gwen, but Arthur was still alive. And Merlin would return him to his rightful state if it was the last thing he’d do.

“So you were working for Morgana?” Gwaine asked.

Char nodded. “But it wasn’t for the reason she believed. I didn’t want her to pay me. I can make money in other ways. I wanted to retrieve a box rightfully belonging to my family that she had stolen. The box contained ancestral heirlooms.”

“And Morgana had no idea it belonged to you?”

“My family’s history is unknown to most. She didn’t have a clue no matter if she is the High Priestess. Fortunately the box looks plain and she could not open it. Only my grandmother could open the box. She’s the one who asked me to retrieve it in fact. I can finally leave.”

“Could I see the box?” Gwaine wanted to know.

“Okay…I can show you the outside at least. To show I’m not lying to you.”

“Yeah, I think I still won’t fully trust you, but it would help.”

“Good thinking. I don’t really trust people either. It’s safer that way.”

Char waved his hand and the box appeared atop the chest at the foot of the bed. Gwaine surveyed the very non-descript wooden box. It seemed like the last thing someone would want to steal.

“I wonder what Morgana thought this was if she didn’t know who it belonged to.”

“She might have sensed the magic coming from it. That could have been enough to spark her interest,” Char theorized. “This is the box’s undisguised appearance,” he said before he touched the box and a small wisp of his purple magic swept over the box.

Gwaine couldn’t stifle his gasp as he witnessed the box transform into a gold and silver container fit for a royal family. The box glowed with its own golden light and there was crest of a fire phoenix with two swords crossed in front of the immortal bird.

“That’s my family crest,” said Char. “Nice to look at, but it’s a relic of a forgotten past.” He said a bit sadly. He idly traced his finger over one of the phoenix’s wings.

“Was your family royalty then?”

“It doesn’t matter what we were,” Char said, weariness seeping into his words. “Forces beyond our control gave us everything a very long time ago, but those same powers dealt us a bad hand five centuries ago. Descendants from then on, including me, have had to take on the task of preserving a dying bloodline. Terrible things will happen if my bloodline meets its end.”

“What terrible things? The end of everything terrible?” Gwaine guessed, though feeling rather incredulous about it.

The thought of a single bloodline having such an impact on the world was too ridiculous to consider.

Char smiled lightly. “No. Nothing like that.”

Gwaine raised his eyebrow at him. Char’s tone of voice heavily implied that Gwaine’s wild deduction may not be far from the truth. “Are you just saying that so I won’t think you’re crazy?”

“No, definitely not,” Char continued to deny.

He made the box disappear, back to some invisible magical storage place he probably had, Gwaine assumed.

Gwaine wondered if Merlin had the same ability with his magic – to keep big objects with him without having to load it up on a horse or put in a satchel.

“How did you turn into Merlin? And you were in two places at once. That conversation with Morgana…you were talking about the same thing that happened to Merlin happening to you. It wasn’t a coincidence. But Merlin – or who I thought was him – was still in the room at the time. It wouldn’t have been possible, none of it…”

“Without magic,” Char finished with a twitch of his lips. “You’re right about that. I don’t turn into different people often… this whole experience was good to exercise that particular magical ability.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure it was. I do like to be played the fool.”

Char raised his hands, looking apologetic. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. If I had a choice in which person Morgana chose to take, it wouldn’t have been you. But I had to play along with her for a time. I was angry with her, as you saw in that argument, that she attempted to strip me of my magic while I was Merlin. That wasn’t a part of our arrangement, you understand. I knew there would be torture, but that she thought she could take my magic…” he paused, shaking his head. “I realize now that I made her nervous, so she wanted to put me in my place I suppose. Do what she could so she wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

“Yet it didn’t work. I knew something was off when you said, ‘make me.’ Something didn’t feel right.”

“I was so displeased with her that I couldn’t remain in character, I guess you would call it. I wanted to let her know that I wouldn’t take what she had done lying down.”

“What did you say to Morgana in the corridor? She was a trembling mess.”

“It doesn’t matter what I said,” Char told him. “What matters is that she won’t be seeking your King’s throne for a long time.”

“Long time as in?”

“Years…”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Fair enough. I don’t need you to trust me. You have every right to be suspicious.”

“I know Merlin is a sorcerer, and he’s my good friend, but sorcerers who are complete strangers are a different matter,” Gwaine said. “How did you manage to be in two places at once? Another clever magic trick you can do?”

Char sighed. He rubbed the back of his head. “Yes. One I won’t do again for a long time. Even with my magic, I have my limits. I divided myself in two. So I was magically disguised as Merlin and then my other half was me speaking with Morgana in the corridor. Keeping that magical spell up and working smoothly has given me a bit of a headache.”

“I hope it turns into a worse headache,” Gwaine said darkly.

“I know if I was in your place I’d be angry… I certainly learned that perhaps I would have been better off getting the box back without Morgana knowing. It was my poor judgment that made me believe actually cooperating with her was a good idea.”

“You have that right,” Gwaine said. “So when you magically turn into other people… can you also know their personalities and know what they would do in certain situations?”

“What do you think? You know Merlin well. Did you believe even for a short time that I acted like the Merlin you know?”

Gwaine nodded after a long moment. He didn’t want to admit that he had been fooled for most of the time he’d been with Merlin here in Morgana’s castle. Merlin’s unwavering concern for Arthur had been present and Gwaine knew all too well how important Arthur was to Merlin. Even the small signs that made him reconsider whether Merlin was truly Merlin, he easily could have disregarded them and kept on believing the lie.

“Yes… maybe if I had spent more time with you, I would have grown more suspicious, but you managed to convince me.”

“My magic not only allows me to turn into other people, but also to have a firm understanding of whom they are,” Char explained to him. “This is to the extent that I can even persuade a close loved one that I am who they think I am. I don’t do this to amuse myself though, you have to understand. It’s a magical talent that helps in the protection of my bloodline. With the ability to change into other people so smoothly, my descendants and I can better hide from our enemies.”

“I’m not surprised you have enemies.”

“I wish we didn’t. I imagine you have enemies too from rival kingdoms being a Knight of Camelot,” Char pointed out.

“Yeah, a hazard of the job. I’ve managed to gain enemies even before my days as a Knight,” Gwaine told him, feeling proud about it. He was a formidable fighter after all, so of course he would have enemies who would be envious of his superior talent.

“So you turned into Merlin. Could you turn into a woman?” Gwaine then asked before Char could answer. He was all too curious about seeing if Char could make this transformation.

“If the situation calls for it,” Char said.

“I’m calling for it. Turning into another man is one thing, but to make me believe you’re a woman…” Gwaine paused. “Just not Morgana.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of her,” Char assured him. “Okay. I’ll do it,” he announced. He touched something on his wrist.

And then Char transformed into Merlin’s mother before his eyes.

“That’s Merlin’s mum, Hunith… how the hell? Did you have access to Merlin’s memories or what?”

“I’ve met Hunith,” Char said in Hunith’s voice which startled Gwaine.

“You sound just like her!” Gwaine said a little too loudly.

He could not believe magic was capable of something like this. To turn into another person so perfectly. If he didn’t know now it was Char, he could just see himself being convinced that this was Hunith. That admission left Gwaine unsettled. He didn’t like to be tricked in such a way. “This is… magic is sometimes…not right.”

“You saw me as Merlin. I sounded like him too.”

“But I didn’t know then it was a trick! And you’re a woman…but you’re Merlin’s mum… this is too much. Could you change back?”

“Of course.”

He did so.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t that strange, surely?”

“It was odd enough. There have been enough revelations for me today. I’m glad I don’t have magic because considering all the possibilities gives me a rotten headache,” Gwaine grumbled.

“Sorry,” said Char, looking sincere.

Gwaine pressed his hand to his brow. He sighed. “So you met Hunith? When? If you’ve hurt her…”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Char told him so firmly that Gwaine couldn’t help but believe him.

Honestly Gwaine couldn’t imagine anyone with any sense harming Merlin’s mum. She was the kindest woman he had ever met.

“When my son was three, he fell ill and I happened to stop by in Ealdor. Hunith offered me help with my son and a place to stay. She was a savior. I feel bad I had to leave her five years ago.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“For reasons I prefer to keep to myself.”

“And I’m guessing you’re raising your son on your own? What. You needed a woman to help you out?”

“My wife died shortly after giving birth to my son. I do the best I can to take care of my son, but sometimes…it is not easy. I wish I can give him his mother back, but I can’t.”

“My mum had to raise me on her own with my father gone. It wasn’t easy for her either. I can’t imagine how it must have been to be in her shoes.”

“You just have to make the best of it. I was grateful for Hunith’s help then.”

“Looking at you, I’m surprised there wasn’t a crowd of women interested in helping you.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“No,” said Gwaine quickly but he saw Char wasn’t fooled as he smiled. “So was there any more to it? Did you repay her for her aid?”

“I tried to pay her, but she refused. I helped around her home though.”

“That’s all? I don’t presume to be an expert on Merlin’s mum… but from my days going from tavern to tavern…I heard stories that unattached older women are not against finding comfort in…”

“Okay!” Char interrupted, raising his hands.

Gwaine suspected he hadn’t planned on telling Gwaine all the details about his time with Hunith. “That happened. Our relationship progressed into a physical one,” Char confessed.

“This makes me see Hunith in a whole new light,” Gwaine mused. “And your son? Was he aware?”

“He was too young. And we…” Char paused, and Gwaine didn’t miss the slight blush blooming on his cheeks. “Hunith and I didn’t do that while he was awake…”

“I see. How thoughtful of you.”

“On that note, I can get you out of here. If you’re interested.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I put the height spell on this tower. You need me to lift it so you and I can leave.”

“Great. So I’m stuck with you.”

“For a little while.”

“So…” Gwaine began as they left the room. “How long were you with Merlin’s mum?”

“Two years.”

“You must have been good then.”

“You’re not going to stop talking about this, are you?”

“We have two years to go through, Char…why would I skip all that rich history?”

“I can see now why you’re a Knight of Camelot,” Char retorted weakly.

Gwaine grinned at him and he clapped him on the shoulder. “The noblest of them all.”

Arthur was surprised to see a ghost approach him in the throne room.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked, his voice as authoritative as he could make it despite his current condition. Ghosts weren’t generally known to be well-meaning beings, more mysterious and untrustworthy.

Arthur was on his guard as a result.

“Hello,” said the ghost. “I’m Valerius,” he introduced himself politely, a smile on his face.

Arthur raised his eyebrow at him. “I am King Arthur Pendragon.”

“Must be nice to be the King,” said Valerius casually.

Arthur wondered if the man even realized he was a ghost.

“Yes. It was what I was born to do.”

“But then there’s the part where you have to deal with enemies. That’s very unfortunate,” Valerius said, looking over Arthur carefully now.

“Yes, well… I try my best, but I can’t gain the support of everyone,” said Arthur, playing along with the ghost’s need for this informal chat. Better to let the ghost continue on than to anger him.

Valerius nodded. “True. True,” he said, sounding very thoughtful. Then he came even closer to Arthur’s throne, resting his ghostly pale hands on either side of the chair.

Arthur felt uncomfortable with this strange ghost so close to him. Yet he couldn’t look away as the man’s eyes – now transformed from cloudy grey to an all too bright green – locked with his.

“Wouldn’t it be kinder not to have age settle on you like a heavy burden? If only we can simply look our age, but not feel the aches of the many years of life.”

“It doesn’t seem like you ever had that trouble.”

“Yes, that’s true. Age never sunk in for me… Death was greedy and wanted me too soon. I always believed I would die in battle, and I did. Just not in the way I expected,” Valerius said sadly, sighing.

“What happened if I could ask?”

Then Arthur noticed a line around Valerius’s neck like his head had been stitched back on. “You were beheaded?” Arthur concluded.

Valerius nodded. “A quick death…painless. I’d probably have killed myself if someone hadn’t beat me to it,” he said, all too nonchalantly for someone just admitting to considering suicide.

“I…I’m sorry,” Arthur said a bit lamely.

Valerius was a stranger to him after all.

How did you speak to someone you didn’t know who clearly had big emotional problems?

And the irony of a suicidal ghost was not lost on Arthur.

Valerius stepped away from Arthur to his relief. It gave Arthur a chance to breathe a little easier.

Valerius clapped his hands. “Well! This was a very good talk. If anyone happens to come looking for me, please don’t tell them I was here. Better yet don’t tell anyone I was here. You have more important things to worry about.”

Then he was gone.

Arthur stared, confused, at the spot where Valerius stood a moment ago.

He was feeling very different. Better different.

The aches and pains of his magically aged muscles and joints had left him.

Then he recalled Valerius’s words: _If only we can simply look our age, but not feel the aches of the many years of life._

Arthur wasn’t sure whether he should feel grateful or unnerved that a ghost had somehow magically healed him.

Well partially. He could still see the age in his hands – the raised veins, dark spots and wrinkles – but at least he felt more alive. He felt like he could move without groaning in pain and sitting back down feeling grumpy.

Arthur hoped this spell Valerius put on him would last a while. At least until Merlin returned to fully cure him with whatever he found in the Faery Realm.

But for now, Arthur stood up and left his throne, relishing the chance to walk down the hall without grimacing due to the pain.

Tancred and Merida found Valerius in the forest. He was sitting by a tree, peering intently at a green heart-shaped leaf as he turned it over.

“Valerius, dear,” Merida said quietly.

Valerius looked up. “Oh look. My keepers have arrived.”

“You know you have to be careful,” Merida told him. “You cannot affect the world of the living too significantly as a ghost…”

“Merida’s right,” Tancred said.

“If that’s the case, then Tancred deserves this lecture too. After all, there is the matter of Balinor. Nothing gets past me.”

“That was – that’s not the point,” Tancred stumbled over his words.

“Never mind what Tancred has done. I’m more worried about you, Valerius. You hurt someone…Tancred’s descendant no less.”

Valerius gave a long sigh and then he set the leaf down on the ground. “I apologized. If you two want to cart me off home, then why don’t you go ahead?”

“You can spend some time with Tancred,” Merida suggested. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Because I was looking forward to sitting in my room staring at the wall,” Valerius said dryly. “You’re forgetting. Nymeria has never much liked me.”

Tancred smiled. “Nymeria will survive. It would be nice to chat a bit.”

“To talk about my failures? I look forward to it,” he said in a grim tone of voice.

“Oh honestly. Stand up, Valerius. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” Merida commanded him. She had her hands on her hips, and she frowned at her former husband.

“After almost five hundred years of death, that advice won’t help.”

“Because you refuse to let it,” Tancred said. He knelt down in front of Valerius. “Come on then. Let’s go home,” he said softly, offering his hand.

Valerius took it and he stood up.

“Where were you anyway after you left Tancred and his descendant?” Merida wanted to know.

“Climbing a mountain, sweetheart,” Valerius shot back to her.

“Of course you were,” she said, clearly not believing him.

“I think it’s time we returned before you climb any more mountains,” Tancred commented.

“Yes, good idea,” Merida agreed. “And I’ll see how Char and Rilian are doing.”

“How are they?” Valerius asked her in great interest.

“Rilian should be freed from Clara’s possession not long from now. And Char is managing well enough. He’s finished what he had to do with Morgana.”

“That witch,” Valerius muttered under his breath, sounding irritated.

“We know she’s terrible. Time is precious. We should go,” Tancred said hurriedly as Valerius looked ready to leave on his own to pay a certain High Priestess a visit.

After saying goodbye to Merida, the two of them left to return to the spirit realm. Merida watched them disappear with relief.

With Rilian, Merlin reached the lake where Freya resided.

Merlin saw Freya, barefoot, standing upon the shore of the lake. While he could see through her form to the lake behind her, she was not all grey like most ghosts. It was a strange mix – like color was bleeding through the grey yet the process wasn’t finished. Her skin was a pale white with light grey mixed in yet her hair was dark brown and touches of purple and blue amidst ghostly grey gave vibrant color to her dress.

The breeze swept past her, making her skirts rustle and strands of her long hair come loose leaving her to capture a loose strand or two and secure them behind her ear. Freya looked as beautiful as he remembered; as he saw her sometimes in his dreams where he longed for the idyllic life he could have had with her.

Of course that wasn’t meant to be in the end. Even if Freya had lived, Merlin did not doubt that the pull of his great destiny with Arthur would draw him back to Camelot and his King.

She smiled as Merlin approached. “Merlin, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” said Merlin, smiling back at her. “This is Rilian,” he introduced him.

Freya smiled warmly at the boy. “Hello dear one. I’m Freya.”

“Hi,” Rilian said a bit shyly. He gave her a small smile in return.

“I need your help, Freya. I need to enter the Faery Realm.”

“Clara has to return home. She has possessed me for five years,” Rilian informed her.

“Oh dear. That’s a long time for a child like you. I can help. Of course. That’s no trouble,” she assured them. “You would need to drink the shrinking potion.”

Merlin nodded. “I know that. We need to go to the kingdom of Thistlewood, I believe.”

“Yes. I am familiar with that kingdom. I can open the portal for you and Rilian. A Faery from Thistlewood will provide you with the shrinking potion.”

Freya waved her hand and the water from the lake rose. The water reshaped itself to form a rounded entry way or portal as Freya had told them.

“You will remain dry even when you go through it. The Faery, Sir Desmond, I believe will meet you upon the gateway bridge into the Faery Realm. The potion must be drunk before official entry into the other realm.”

Merlin nodded. “Thank you, Freya. Is this Desmond aware that we’re coming?”

“He is anticipating Rilian coming to return Clara home. I don’t think he’ll be expecting you. As long as you aren’t combative, then it should be fine. He is a Knight, understand, so he must be respected no matter if he is not human like you.”

“Yes, I’ll remember that,” said Merlin with a nod. “I hope to see you again,” he told Freya, kissing her on the cheek.

She smiled with affection towards him, placing her hand on his cheek. Merlin felt the uncommon coolness of her hand and tried not to think about the reason for that being her death. Here and now, Freya was alive again in his eyes. It was nice to pretend for a little while at least.

“I hope so too,” Freya agreed.

“Are you ready, Rilian?” Merlin looked to the boy.

Rilian bit his lip but then he nodded, looking as brave as he could.

“I know it’s not easy going into the unknown, but you won’t be alone,” Merlin reminded him.

He held out his hand, and Rilian took it with a small smile on his face as he looked up at Merlin.

While Rilian appeared relatively at ease being on his own here in the human realm, Merlin could understand the anxiety he felt going into an entirely different realm. Not to mention Rilian’s life would change, gaining some normalcy back when Clara left his body and the boy could finally grow and develop like any human child. It was a big event in Rilian’s life so far. Of course he was nervous.

“Good luck, Merlin, Rilian,” Freya wished them as they passed through the portal.

She waved at them as they departed.

Merlin and Rilian exited the portal and the bridge was immediately before them. A tall blue shimmering wall could be seen at the other end of the bridge. Merlin guessed there was an opening to the Faery Realm within that wall.

A Faery, presumably Sir Desmond, stood atop one of the bridge railings waiting for them. He had dark hair and very pale brown eyes which held an inscrutable look as he studied them. What struck Merlin most about the knight was that his pupils were a bright golden color instead of the common black. It gave Sir Desmond a rather distinctive look and left Merlin more uneasy about dealing with the knight.

“Sir Desmond,” Merlin acknowledged. “My name is Merlin. I’m here with Rilian. We want to return the princess safely home.”

“I see that,” the Faery Knight said curtly. “And he could not do it alone?”

“Rilian’s just a boy. I offered to help him. I want to stay with him if that’s okay with you. I want to make sure he’s looked after.”

“I can hear a threat no matter how hidden it is. Do you think us Faeries thoughtless beings? We may not be on the best terms with humans, but we do know how to act civilly.”

“I didn’t mean--” Merlin paused, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. “I’ll just not say anything more about it.”

“Perhaps that would be wisest,” said Desmond.

“I don’t want to go alone. I want Merlin to come with me,” Rilian spoke up in an earnest tone.

“Of course. I was once young like you. I understand needing someone older to be by your side,” Desmond reassured him.

Rilian looked very relieved.

Merlin thought that even if Desmond was rather unpleasant with him, at least the Knight was polite enough to Rilian. Merlin had more than enough experience with frustrating people – Arthur being a prime example. He could survive Desmond’s behavior toward him.

Sir Desmond held out two vials of potion to them. “This is to make you Faery-size and allow you to enter my realm. It is safe for all humans in case you wanted to ask,” he said pointedly to Merlin.

“How unfortunate. And I was very ready to drink a dangerous potion,” Merlin retorted in mock seriousness.

Desmond’s lips twisted as he looked torn between being amused or reproachful. “Funny. Very funny.”

Even Rilian couldn’t help but smile widely, understanding Merlin’s joke.

The mood effectively lightened, the pair drank the potion. Merlin barely felt any sensation as he shrunk down to Sir Desmond’s size. It was almost instantaneous – one moment he was holding the bottle and the next, the bottle was about as tall as him and the bridge railings seemed so high up.

Desmond flew down to them upon bridge pathway.

“Feeling okay?” He asked.

Merlin nodded as well as Rilian.

“It was so quick,” Rilian commented.

“That potion is a very well-made one,” explained Desmond. He looked pleased about that. “We don’t have humans visit often, but we still had this potion perfected to ensure no adverse side effects.”

Merlin noticed then the detail on Desmond’s sword attached at his belt. It had a vine of blooming flowers covering the entire blade.

Desmond caught Merlin’s gaze upon his sword. “Don’t be mistaken. This blade is still very sharp. And full of Faery magic.”

“It’s just not a design I’m used to seeing,” Merlin said.

“It’s in honour of my mother. She died when I was little,” Desmond explained shortly.

“I know what it’s like to grow up without a parent. I never knew my father when I was young,” said Merlin, hoping in a small way to relate to the Faery Knight.

Desmond nodded. “Well then. We have something in common,” he said.

Merlin couldn’t read what Desmond was feeling yet it was a good start regardless.

“How did you know about Rilian being possessed by Clara?” Merlin then asked Desmond.

“Prince Philip, the King’s brother, was investigating the matter and came to that conclusion. It took a very long time, but regrettably the higher powers didn’t wish the Princess to be returned home as soon as possible. Your father has missed you so, little one,” said Desmond, turning to face Rilian, but he was clearly speaking to Clara.

With the mention of her father, Merlin watched Rilian grimace in pain. “Clara’s afraid of returning. Of what her father will say…” Rilian uttered.

“Clara, stop it please. You’re hurting Rilian,” Merlin asked of her urgently.

Yet how did you reason with a young child? A Faery child no less?

He saw white magic swirl around Rilian.

“She’s attempting to leave,” Sir Desmond declared.

“What can we do? She needs to return home not to mention she’s harming Rilian too.”

Rilian fell to his knees.

Merlin was at his side immediately, wrapping his arms around him to comfort the boy as he began to breathe shallowly.

“Fight it, Rilian. You can ask your magic to help you, ask it to keep Clara’s magic at bay.”

“Concentrate as best as you can, Rilian,” the Faery Knight advised him.

“I’m trying…stop it…stop it,” Rilian muttered fiercely under his breath. “Please, Clara. You’ll kill me…”

Rilian’s purple magic appeared, glowing more strongly as it strengthened. The purple magic seemed to chase after the white magic as they both circled around Rilian’s body. It appeared like both magicks were trying to avoid becoming ensnared and beaten by the other.

“Princess, what do you think your uncle will say when he knows you misbehaved?” Desmond spoke up in a stern voice. “That we had to resort to putting you to sleep because you couldn’t behave nicely? And hurting a human in the process! You know how he feels about humans. That hasn’t changed. Now please, be kind to the boy and stop trying to escape.”

To Merlin’s immense relief, Clara seemed to stop as her white magic faded away.

“Clara is close to her uncle. She regards his opinion of her very highly,” Desmond explained to Merlin.

“Good thing that worked,” Merlin said. He surveyed Rilian carefully. “How are you?”

“Okay…tired though,” Rilian said. “That was scary for a little bit.”

“Yeah I saw that,” Merlin said. “You did well. You were brave.”

Rilian smiled up at him, and Merlin squeezed his shoulder.

“The Princess should release Rilian before we enter the Faery Realm,” Desmond decided. “It would show you are remorseful, Princess, when you don’t need your father to persuade you to leave the boy,” he reasoned with her.

Rilian’s eyes turned white and Clara said, “Okay. I will leave. But I want Rilian and Merlin to still come to the Faery Realm.”

“Yes, that’s not a problem. Hopefully you can learn something that will prove useful,” Desmond said, speaking more to Merlin.

Merlin thought of the cure for Arthur, and hoped that yes, he would learn something useful.

Clara left Rilian’s body rather easily. Merlin felt it was too smoothly done after five long years of possession. It was a shame Clara hadn’t been courageous enough earlier to release Rilian from her possession and face her father.

Merlin got his first look at Clara. She was a pretty little girl with white-blonde hair and clear blue eyes. A crystal tiara was atop her head and she wore a blue dress. While there was a bit of fear in her eyes – due to the punishment awaiting her – there was also stubbornness and self-entitlement. But Merlin hoped that as she grew into adulthood, Clara would mature into a compassionate woman. Hopefully her time with Rilian would affect her positively. Force her to see that her actions have consequences.

“I feel strange,” Rilian said. “Dizzy.”

Desmond offered him a potion. “Here. This will help to calm your body.”

Standing up, Rilian took the potion gratefully.

“A sip will do. You don’t need much,” Desmond advised him.

“Have a potion for everything, don’t you?” Merlin commented casually.

“It’s not a bad thing to be as prepared as one can be,” said the Faery Knight with a shrug.

After Rilian had a bit of the potion, announcing he was feeling better, he looked apprehensively at Clara. Like he was worried she would do something else to him. Maybe even attempt to possess him another time.

Merlin noticed how anxious Clara looked as she fidgeted with her hands, her clear eyes locked upon Rilian.

Rilian just moved closer to Merlin and he stood a bit behind him as if to shield himself from Clara’s sight. A surge of protectiveness swept over Merlin toward this child. Though they had only met one another, he was pleasantly surprised that Rilian was so comfortable with him. Enough to feel safe with him and trust Merlin to help and protect him.

“Make her go away,” Rilian whispered to him, his tone pleading and a bit nervous due to Clara’s presence.

“I’m sorry, Rilian. I told you I was sorry,” Clara said quietly.

“Sometimes sorry is not enough, Princess,” Desmond told her.

“Tell her how you feel,” Merlin advised Rilian. “She needs to know. You can do it.”

Rilian took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.”

Merlin gently pushed the boy in front of him.

He began, a little nervously at first but as his confidence built, the words grew stronger and firmer as he voiced his grievances. “I couldn’t have proper friends because of you. For five years, you were the only one who could be the closest thing to a friend because you knew what my problem was. But you were the one who caused it. Sometimes I wish I had never met you… that when you first appeared, I had run away and you’d left me alone.”

Clara’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Rilian…”

“I always had to worry that you would make me do or say something terrible. And I couldn’t stop you. I was scared sometimes and you know I couldn’t sleep very well most nights…”

“I made a mistake…I never wanted to hurt you…” Clara drifted off as she appeared to concentrate on keeping her composure. Which was a hard thing for a child to do.

“And the worst is seeing my father so sad and unhappy,” Rilian continued on, sounding emotional as he discussed his father. “He tries so hard to take care of me with Mummy gone… and you made it much harder. I didn’t like seeing him sad. I wanted him to be happy. That’s all. And now he will be because I’m free of you.”

“I don’t regret meeting you,” Clara said softly. “I’m sorry to have hurt you, but I want to see you again…” she told him in earnest.

After a long tension-filled pause, Rilian said, “I don’t want to see you again.”

The tears then fell down Clara’s face. She put her face in her hands as she wept. Merlin had a strong feeling that Clara had a lot of fondness for Rilian yet she couldn’t quite comprehend Rilian’s view. He had been the victim, so of course he would be angry and not want to see the person who had possessed him for five years.

She turned around and flew away from them, stopping at the wall and removing her tiara. She took the sapphire jewel from it and pressed it against the wall. An open entryway appeared and once she had restored the jewel to her headpiece, she hurried through it.

Merlin almost felt like he was watching a break-up between a couple but these were five-year old children. Far too young for a romantic relationship. Even if they had lived for ten years – it was still too young.

Rilian looked uncomfortable. He frowned. “I didn’t mean to make her cry.”

“The truth hurts. She needed to hear it, to understand how you truly felt. You did the right thing, Rilian.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he said unhappily.

“It will be a good lesson for the princess to learn. She will be fine,” said Sir Desmond.

“I’m surprised you’re not defending her.”

“I know what is right and what is wrong. And what Princess Clara did was wrong and she must understand that. Only then will she become a better person for learning the error of her ways.”

Merlin remembered the day he told Arthur about his magic.

_“I never thought the truth would hurt this much,” said Arthur._

_“I’m sorry, Arthur… I did it all for you and for Camelot. Please understand.”_

_“Yes, but you would have rather make me look an ignorant fool than entrust me with the truth. Did you not even value our friendship as highly as I did?”_

_“Arthur…My Lord, you know I did. More than words can say.”_

_Arthur gave him a long, hard look. Merlin thought he would crumble to dust under his scrutinizing gaze, he was so nervous. “I need you to leave me now. I must think in peace,” Arthur requested of him._

_Feeling like his heart had shattered into many pieces, Merlin left Arthur’s company. He wished he had been brave enough to reveal his magic to Arthur much earlier._

_But it was too late for that now._

As Merlin recalled that bad day, he decided that he did understand how Clara was feeling now. He loved Arthur so deeply that it hurt sometimes, and it was hard to see him turn Merlin away with cold words no matter how deserved.

Merlin was grateful that now it appeared that his bond with Arthur would survive this challenge.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Merlin quickly when Desmond was staring at him, taking him out of his reverie.

“Are we going to go to the Faery Realm now?” Rilian asked.

Merlin didn’t miss the breathless excitement in his voice, and some impatience as well to move forward.

Desmond nodded. “Of course. Please give me your bottles. I need to take them back to Amelia. She’s our Court Physician at Thistlewood.”

Merlin and Rilian did so and Desmond put them in his pouch. Rilian grasped Merlin’s hand again as they walked across the bridge following Desmond. Rilian appeared to have gotten over his unhappiness regarding Clara for the moment. Children had shorter attention spans after all. Or maybe the excitement and trepidation of entering a different realm now preoccupied Rilian’s mind.

Merlin couldn’t blame him. He felt the same way.

~ * ~

Within the realm of the spirits, there were parks all throughout the place. Mordred went to visit one of them after Ophelia had invited him to meet at a park.

He couldn’t resist the chance to be outside, breaking up the monotony of the corridors and rooms. Though Mordred wasn’t sure how real this outside was – if it was simply a magical illusion for ghosts like him to find peace and comfort in the beauty of nature – but he was glad for the presence of the outside.

He saw Colin and Timothy playing at the park. Timothy had climbed up a grassy hill and declared, “I’m the King of this realm!”

From the bottom of the hill, Colin shot back at him, his arms folded across his chest. “No you’re not.”

“Noo you’rrre not,” Timothy repeated, exaggerating the other boy’s Irish accent.

“That’s not how I sound!” Colin exclaimed, sounding affronted.

“Then you must not hear yourself properly,” said Timothy with a shrug, looking quite pleased with himself. He stuck his tongue out at Colin.

Colin ran up the hill after Timothy, and soon the two of the boys disappeared out of Mordred’s sight as they went on the other side of the hill.

Mordred was still left bemused on how those two boys were friends.

He found Ophelia sitting at a bench with a small baby in her arms.

“Hello,” Mordred greeted her.

He sat down beside Ophelia.

Ophelia smiled. “Hi, Mordred. This is little Rosalyn.”

He saw that Rosalyn had red hair and blue eyes. She looked smaller than Mordred thought babies should look. Not that he was an expert, but Mordred wondered if this baby had been born too soon.

“You take care of her then?”

“I share the duty with others. Poor dear died before she was even named,” Ophelia said sadly.  
“So we came up with a nice name for her.”

“I thought babies would go somewhere else…to the next step. It’s wrong that some would stay here as ghosts.”

“That’s how it usually is, yes, but still there are some like Rosalyn who remain here. I’m not sure why. Maybe she has something unfinished that she needs to take care of before moving on.”

“But she’s just a baby…how could she even be aware of the unfinished business she has?” Mordred asked her in disbelief.

“I couldn’t tell you, honestly…but you know, even the littlest ones can teach us something,” Ophelia told him. “Here, you can hold her.”

“I…I’m not much for holding babies,” said Mordred quickly, feeling nervous about holding a baby for some reason. Maybe it had to do with the baby being a painful reminder of the family he never got to have before Morgana took his life. “Never did it before. Even when I was alive.”

“Well now you have the perfect opportunity. You’ll do fine. You can’t hurt Rosalyn after all,” she assured him.

That just made Mordred sadder as he was reminded of the fact that Rosalyn was the ghost of a baby… that she barely had a chance to live and make her mark on the world before she passed away.

Tentatively, Mordred took Rosalyn in his arms and Ophelia advised him to support the baby’s head. Rosalyn looked up at him with wide eyes. He touched one of her hands and her tiny fingers grasped one of his fingers. Mordred wildly wished that Rosalyn could be reborn now. It was hard for him to hold her and know she had been denied a chance of truly living a full life.

“When my Rilian was just a baby,” Ophelia began, wistfulness in her voice, “I used to visit him at night to hold him and sing him lullabies. It was easier then when he was so young. He didn’t notice I was there. Now he’s older and I don’t want to startle him. So I mostly watch him from afar. I miss him terribly.”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred said to her, and he meant it. “He’s lucky to have a mother like you.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, still looking sad though.

With Rosalyn still held in his arms, Mordred leaned toward Ophelia and kissed her chastely on the cheek. He hoped that would cheer her a little bit, get her mind off her unhappy thoughts.

Ophelia blushed slightly, but then she gave a long sigh. She put her hand on his cheek.

“What?” Mordred asked her. “I know you were married and…”

“No, that’s okay. My husband and I are divided by the barriers of life and death. I love him very much as he is the father of our child, but I cannot be with him as I once was. I’ve accepted that…mostly.”

“I wish I had loved someone that much…”

“And one day you will, I don’t doubt that,” Ophelia assured him with a smile. She dropped her hand from his face.

“It was nice,” she then said when Mordred didn’t speak.

“What do you mean?”

“The kiss…I liked it,” she said with a small smile.

Mordred smiled back at her.

Then Colin and Timothy reappeared a few feet away from them. They were both carrying twigs and waving them about at each other.

“What is that spell for disarming?” Timothy asked.

“Expelliarmus,” said Colin promptly, clearly being the expert on the subject.

But the moment he said that, Timothy’s twig flew out of his hand.

Timothy frowned, shooting Colin a look. “This is supposed to be pretend! You’re cheating!”

“No, I’m not,” Colin defended. “I didn’t know that would happen. Maybe you need another wand…erm twig wand,” he corrected.

“I suppose your Hogwarts letter was lost in the post.”

Colin stuck out his tongue at him. “I can help you find a better twig wand…” he offered.

Timothy nodded, accepting the peace offering.

Seeing Mordred and Ophelia, Colin waved to them before going after Timothy. The other boy was searching the ground amongst the trees for fallen twigs.

“They make quite the pair,” said Ophelia.

“Yes they do,” agreed Mordred.

Gwaine and Char sat beside each other as the blazing fire Char conjured gave them light and warmth.

After leaving the prison that was Morgana’s castle, Char had caught a few rabbits for the both of them. It was all too easy with his magic, and Gwaine hadn’t even brought up finding something to eat. Char just went ahead and did some quick hunting. Gwaine had offered to help, but Char had told him not to worry about that.

Anyway, he didn’t have the appropriate hunting weapons with him.

If this son Char apparently had existed, then Gwaine imagined that he had experience ensuring his son had enough food to eat. It was different after all, being an adult and toughing it out with little food, but a starving child was a situation to be avoided. He knew enough from his childhood. His mother had done her best to feed him when his father had died in battle and they were left penniless thanks to an uncaring King.

After they had eaten and satisfied their thirst, the pair sat quietly as the fire’s flames crackled and popped and gave the only real noise to break the awkward silence.

Gwaine watched as Char twisted a stick around in his hand – seeming to be lost in his own thoughts as the silence festered and almost drove Gwaine mad.

Unable to stand the quiet any longer, Gwaine asked him a question.

“What you can do with the disguises, is it just a special kind of magic?”

Char looked at him, appearing rather surprised that Gwaine had even spoken. “That’s part of it…but it’s also future technology. I don’t fully understand it. I just know it works but I couldn’t tell you the intricate details behind it.”

“And how do you have access to this future knowledge?”

Char studied him over carefully as if determining whether or not he should tell Gwaine the truth. Making his decision, he spoke, “Thousands of years from now, people will be able to travel in time. There was a brilliant man who traveled back in time – to almost four hundred years ago from our present. For him it was thousands of years removed from his time. He chose to help our family. Even as a ghost now, he is still helping us. He’s a doctor.”

“A doctor…” Gwaine repeated. He was intrigued by the idea of a doctor traveling in time.

“A scientist too…but he has successfully managed to ensure our family’s survival. I’m not sure why he chose to help us, but I’m grateful he did.”

“Huh…and what’s his name?”

“Can’t tell you that. You wouldn’t know him if I told you either way.”

“Another secret then,” Gwaine commented, showing his displeasure with that fact.

Char sighed and showed him his hand. He pointed to his wrist. Gwaine saw a mark of some strange green lizard creature.

“What is that? Does that have to do with your talent?”

Char nodded. “It’s called a chameleon. Below the mark is this tiny square chip…so small it cannot be seen by the human eye. The square chip is able to store a near unlimited amount of information…”

“Allowing you to transform easily into another person and be able to fool even their closest family,” Gwaine finished, showing his disapproval in his tone.

“Yes,” Char acknowledged. He had not missed Gwaine’s note of disapproval, Gwaine was glad, as he rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He said, “That’s one of the purposes of the chameleon chip.”

“So how does this chip work? Is it inserted?”

“The chip only had to be inserted once. One of my ancestors, Philip, was the first to have the chip inside him. And then somehow, amazingly, a copy of the chip and the abilities it provides the user are transferred to the child. Not unlike a child having blue eyes because his mother or father has such an eye color. The actual chameleon does not appear until the child is of age – I was eighteen when it appeared for me. The chip is always there…underneath the surface humming away.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I told you I’m not the one to explain all the little details. But the chip has managed to work for my bloodline for almost four hundred years. Think it mad or not, the results speak for themselves,” Char finished matter-of-factly, giving Gwaine a small smile.

“Huh…” Gwaine could only say, unsure where to start with all he had learned.

It would be much easier to write Char off as a mad man talking about time travelers from the future and this chip…but from the serious look on Char’s face, Gwaine didn’t think he was lying. Then again, from this apparent master of disguises, when could Gwaine trust Char? How could he know when he was putting on an act or speaking the truth?

“Oh, and the chameleon can change colors too, sometimes. Here,” Char showed him. Gwaine watched the chameleon’s color change from green to a darker green, then blue, purple, and red. Finally the creature changed to a more beige color to match the color of Char’s skin.

“Chameleons are known for blending into their surroundings. That’s what the doctor said.”

“Now I see why that animal was chosen,” Gwaine said dryly.

Char smiled. “Yes. It wasn’t chosen at random definitely. And having the ability allowed me to live here without anyone knowing I wasn’t a native of Albion.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up in Rome. I spoke Latin…and I had an accent. Yet with the chip, I can make small changes to have myself sound like I’ve lived in Albion all my life.”

“Now that I wasn’t expecting,” Gwaine said, taken aback. “Why are you telling me that? Isn’t that something you should keep to yourself?”

“I can tell you’re still distrustful of me. I understand that, and you deserve to have your reservations. But I want you to know that I’m willing to be honest with you. Especially with a secret that I’m not of Albion as others would believe.”

Gwaine was about to ask him if he could speak a few words in his mother tongue, but his eyes caught the sight of a house across the small lake before them. That piqued his interest. He could not resist finding out whose house that was. The dwelling stood out, alone, on the opposing lakeshore.

“Do you know who lives there?”

“That’s my house.”

“Then why are we here outside instead of there?”

“It’s not easy for me to go inside. That’s where…my…” Char trailed off. “It’s not a happy place for me now.”

“Your wife died there?”

Char only nodded.

“Could I go inside? Or would you rather I not?”

“Go in if you want. I don’t mind,” Char told him.

Gwaine looked at him carefully and strongly felt that Char wasn’t telling him something.

“Okay, if you agree. Do you want to come with?”

“Not particularly,” said Char, giving him a weak smile. The other man, instead, deigned to gaze at the crackling fire.

Gwaine went ahead on his own, feeling uneasy as after all, someone did die within the house.

He entered the house and he couldn’t miss death weighing down on house. Sadness swept through the house and Gwaine found it difficult to feel happy or event content in this place that had witnessed an unfortunate death.

The room just off the kitchen had its door left a little ajar. Gwaine went there and slowly pushed the door open – as if he would too fast and too loudly that it awaken something he didn’t want to wake up.

He could stop the gasp of shock from coming. “Shit,” he uttered without thinking.

Char’s wife was lying in the bed, a soft golden glow surrounding her. Gwaine concluded that the glow was magically preserving the body since it hadn’t deteriorated as it would have otherwise. She only looked like she was resting, her arms positioned neatly across her chest, her hands clasped together.

The words, “Beloved Wife and Mother” were written on the headboard. Gwaine thought the woman looked rather young – more like a girl who had just been at the cusp of womanhood before death. She had been sixteen at the most? And yet this woman had married and given birth. It wasn’t unusual, true, in this present day but she just looked so young in her eternal sleep that this truth startled Gwaine.

She was undoubtedly pretty as her long blonde hair almost reached her waist and a headpiece with an amethyst stone crowned her head. She was wearing a simple white dress and a wedding band was on her finger.

Char had to be behind this. He was keeping her dead body here, for however many years, instead of letting her go.

For all the power Char seemed to have, Gwaine realized that this didn’t mean he was not without his troubles.

“What was her name?” Gwaine asked Char when he returned to him.

“Ophelia. Her name was Ophelia,” Char told him softly, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “I expect you believe I’ve lost my senses…keeping her that way. I should have buried her or laid her on a funeral pyre… and yet I can’t bear to do that.”

“I just think…it’s never easy to lose someone you love, but yeah…keeping her body like that where you can see it won’t help you go through the grieving process.”

“It’s been ten years…and you aren’t the first to tell me to let her go. I find the idea the most painful thing I would ever have to do though.”

“I’m far from the best person to tell you what to do about this. Probably Merlin would be better…which is awkward considering you turned into him,” Gwaine remembered, frowning.

Char sighed. “My magic can do many things. But I couldn’t save her however much I wanted to. Ophelia had just given birth. Her body was not stable enough to allow magic to heal any weaknesses, to save her life. I didn’t want to make her last hours more painful for her so I did the only thing I could. I used a little of my magic to give her a peaceful passing…that’s all her body could take. I am glad I was able to provide her with that small comfort. Even if I wished I could have done more.”

“And hopefully one day, you could lay her to rest. I never knew her, so I don’t know what she would have wanted, but I don’t think it would have been remaining in the same bed she died in.”

“You’re right. You’re right,” Char agreed, rubbing his face in his hands. “It’s something I can’t avoid for much longer.”

Char fell asleep not long afterwards, undoubtedly emotionally exhausted from thinking about his dead wife.

Gwaine watched him sleep for a little while, and he recalled in his childhood how he had believed that sorcerers must have lived easy, carefree lives with all the magic they possessed. After all, with magic, they could make all their wishes and dreams come true and never want for anything.

But now, after knowing the struggles of Merlin and now the terrible loss burdening Char; Gwaine had gained a more realistic view of magic users. They had their troubles and hardships like non-magic users. In the end, they were all human and they couldn’t escape the unpleasant things life put in their way.

Tancred peered at the old magical painting done of him in his youth. Valerius appeared to be stuck in his thoughts as he stared at the opposite wall.

His dragon Nymeria approached him. “The painter captured me very nicely,” she commented.

There she was -- a newborn dragon on Tancred’s shoulder in the painting. Nymeria was breathing out fire and with the magic inside the painting; the fire came alive and shot out of the confines of the painting. It made the painting special – fittingly so because it was done in honour of the most important ceremony of Tancred’s life. The ceremony involved picking the dragon that would be his companion for the rest of his life.

Tancred held the dragon staff inherited from his father – one of the few things he had left from his parents. He wore robes that seemed to swallow up his awkward-looking fourteen-year old self rather than making him appear respectable. He had a slight smile on his face, wanting to look right for the painting. This was a challenge when the other boys were making faces at him. He had wanted so badly to punch them in their smug faces, but he restrained himself.

“That was both the worst and best day of my life,” Tancred spoke out loud, feeling nostalgic. He knew that Nymeria was well aware of his feelings about that day. Such was the strength of the bond between Dragonlord and dragon.

He took his mind back to that day. It was the first time he’d met Valerius – at that time he was only the heir to the High Kingship. Due to his father being very ill, the Prince was here instead of him. So at only sixteen, Valerius was taking on more duties and responsibilities. That included attending this ceremony where the dragons were hatched and named by their Dragonlords. When Tancred forgot as everyone else did about the First Family, his memory was altered to have the Chief Dragonlord Elder blessing each dragon egg before it hatched.

Yet in reality, it was Valerius – with the blood and magic of the royal First Family – who blessed each egg.

Tancred had been excited that day. He wildly hoped that with a dragon by his side, the other boys would leave him alone or maybe even respect him. He was always the pathetic weakling orphan, a nuisance. He dreamed of the day he would get his dragon and finally the day had come…

_Past:_

_“Tancred,” Valerius said out loud._

_Tancred was so nervous that he faltered, feeling frozen in such an important moment. Then one of the boys in back of him pushed him forward. He almost fell to the ground before he quickly managed to regain his balance._

_The Dragonlord Elders frowned at Tancred’s less than prompt response. The Elders stood in the front along with Valerius and the Prince’s two formidable looking handlers. Even if he was very powerful in his magic, Valerius still had to travel with bodyguards as a precaution._

_He heard some of the boys chuckling at his misstep before stifling their laughter under the stern gaze of the Dragonlord Elders._

_Tancred did his best to ignore the boys. He was far too used to being a target for teasing. It was more important now to walk forward, one step at a time, to appease the Dragonlord Elders._

_He made it to the table where his dragon egg lay in a nest._

_“Hello,” Valerius said congenially, smiling at him. The smile helped Tancred to feel more at ease._

_“Good day, My Lord,” said Tancred as formally and respectfully as he could._

_“Are you excited?” Valerius asked him._

_“Yes…yes, very much,” Tancred said, stuttering a bit as he felt Valerius’s startling green-eyed gaze upon him. He thought if he looked at him directly that he would forget how to speak._

_Valerius hovered his hand over Tancred’s dragon egg and a purple glow enveloped the egg as a result. The glow subsided after a long moment. Tancred stared at the egg intensely, thinking carefully of a name for his dragon._

_Then a name came to him._

_“Nymeria,” he declared as confidently as he could in the dragon tongue._

_The egg began to crack. A pearl-pink dragon with wide blue eyes the color of the sky came into view as pieces of egg shell fell around the creature. As she stared at Tancred, the newborn dragon made an endearing squeaking noise like she was saying hello._

_Tancred smiled at the young dragon. She was beautiful. And her eyes were the same color eyes he imagined his father had in his dreams._

_A Dragonlord Elder, Theodore, declared, “You have a female dragon, Tancred.”_

_Tancred heard the boys, as usual, snickering behind him. He wasn’t the first to receive a female dragon. It was not possible for everyone to gain a male dragon. Yet because it was him, the others grasped the opportunity to tease him. Now Tancred wasn’t even sure if getting a male dragon would have helped. He had long accepted that he would always be one of the lower-ranking Dragonlords – that his bloodline would die with him._

_One boy, that impulsive Draconis, yelled out, “I guess this means you’ll be turning into a girl, Tancred!”_

_The other boys howled in laughter. The Dragonlord Elders immediately called for order and for everyone to quiet down and behave themselves._

_Still it took a few long, frustrating moments for the group to do so._

_Tancred gritted his teeth, his hands in fists clenched at his sides._

_“I heard that female dragons are far cleverer than male dragons,” Valerius told him, attempting to make Tancred feel better._

_Tancred smiled at him, trying not to let the tears fall from his eyes. Damn them. He couldn’t even get through this ceremony without the other boys making fun of him and ruining his moment._

_He wanted to go hide in a corner and cry, wishing like so many other times before that his parents were alive. Because they would take care of him, they would love him. They wouldn’t think him pathetic or weak._

_They would be proud of him on this day._

_He extended his arm to Nymeria and the little dragon walked up it and settled on his shoulder. Her head rested on top of his._

_“Thank you,” said Tancred quickly, eyes averted from Valerius._

_“It’s been nice to meet you,” said Valerius sincerely._

_Tancred looked up at him, smiling, but didn’t respond. He turned around and retreated to the back of the group, allowing the next boy to claim his dragon. And with him settled in the back, he’d be left alone while everyone’s attention was focused on the ceremony._

_He found a small hollow opening in the rock and he went inside there, fitting in snugly as he sat, his legs bent up and his arms circling them. Nymeria settled in front of him, tilting her head left and right as she peered at him curiously._

_Tancred gave her a smile that couldn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me. No one really likes me here,” he confided in the dragon._

_He put his head on the top of his knees and the tears came flowing down._

_“I’m so sorry,” Tancred murmured. He swiped at his eyes to stem the tears that refused to stop._

_Nymeria lay down on his feet and squeaked at him as if to say, “You’re not alone.”_

_Tancred felt his mood brighten, glad that at least he had Nymeria on his side._

_Over the years, he had dreams where he heard his mother and father beyond the veil. Always out of reach, always hearing their voices comforting him yet he couldn’t see or touch them. A seed of hope was planted in him as he considered that maybe Nymeria, his chosen dragon, was a gift from his parents. A way they could still be with him, but in another form._

_The thought lifted his spirits and he vowed to take good care of Nymeria._

_In the early evening Valerius came to see him. Nymeria was eating the three dead mice that Tancred had got for her. She looked to be content with her meal and Tancred thought she looked sweet despite the blood spattered across her mouth. She even smiled at him for a moment before returning to her food._

_“Hello again,” Valerius greeted him._

_“I thought you would be busy talking with the others,” said Tancred._

_“You’re the most interesting person here,” said Valerius._

_Tancred raised his eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to be funny?” He wondered._

_Valerius shook his head. “I understand that it’s hard for you here.”_

_“I’ll probably move far away from here with Nymeria. I’ll be happiest then.”_

_“I’m sorry it’s like this for you. You seem like a good person.”_

_“No matter how true that could be, everyone will still see me as weak. That’s just how it is,” Tancred told him, resigned to the fact._

_“I was always a bit envious of Dragonlords, you know,” Valerius brought up, changing the subject to Tancred’s relief. “We have phoenixes back home, but we can’t keep them as companions. We just take care of them, make sure they’re healthy. Since they’re a part of my family’s crest…the phoenix with the two swords.”_

_Tancred nodded. “I know.”_

_“It’s a shame we can’t be proper friends. I have to return home. But I hope we can see one another again before I leave,” Valerius said to him._

_He leaned toward Tancred and kissed him softly on the lips. Pulling away, he gave Tancred an uncertain smile. “I’m sorry if you--”_

_“No, no…it’s…I liked it. Please… I don’t mind if you continued,” Tancred said earnestly._

_“Good. I’m glad of that.”_

_And Valerius kissed him again, this time Tancred opened his mouth in invitation for him. Their tongues made contact and Tancred could scarcely believe this was happening. He was only fourteen and he had believed that he would never be intimate with anyone. Life as a recluse was more inevitable for him than anything else._

_Soon Valerius climbed on top of him and slowly raised Tancred’s shirt exposing his pale skin._

_It was the first time Tancred had ever been so aroused, and it was not easy to look away from Valerius’s piercing gaze. He was the most handsome man he had ever met, and Tancred did not doubt the stories now that members of the First Family were born of the gods – inheriting their beauty and greatness._

_Yet then Nymeria breathed out a burst of fire in Valerius’s direction. It was a small ball of flame as she was a very young dragon after all, but it was enough to dispel the heat-charged atmosphere._

_Valerius got up off of him as Nymeria looked to do a repeat performance._

_“Sorry,” Tancred said, feeling embarrassed. “I guess Nymeria doesn’t like it when my attention is not on her.”_

_Valerius smiled at him, waving his hand. “That’s all right. It’s more important for you to have a strong bond with your dragon. I’m glad that Nymeria is being diligent about keeping an eye on you.”_

_“Unfortunately a little too well,” said Tancred. “I did like it – the kissing and the rest. I never felt that way before… I never thought someone like you would give me a second look.”_

_“There’s something about you. I see great things in your future,” Valerius told him._

_And then Valerius left soon afterwards but with a promise to see him the next day before he had to go._

_It was years later when Tancred experienced the greatest moment of his life. That moment was the birth of his son, Caspian, with Merida. He couldn’t stop the tears of happiness from coming as he held his newborn son._

_All his fears that his bloodline would surely end with him were erased as he held his son securely in his arms. He raised him up to press a kiss to his little brow, silently thanking the gods for this blessing._

_“He’s so tiny, Father,” Kearney, Merida’s son with Valerius, had commented to Tancred._

_He was just four at the time._

_“He’ll get bigger, Sweetheart,” Merida had spoken._

_“And most importantly, you’ll be a big brother to Caspian,” Tancred had told him with a kind smile._

_“I’ll be the best one in the world!” Kearney had declared in childish enthusiasm, jumping up and down._

“Tancred? Tancred?”

Valerius’s voice brought Tancred out of his reverie.

“Hmmm…yes, Valerius? What is it?”

Tancred turned around to see Valerius holding a book, one that had been on his table.

“That’s the book Colin asked you to look at?” Nymeria figured out.

Tancred nodded. “Colin wanted my opinion on the book, the whole series in fact, since I have magic. I’m about halfway through that first book.”

“And what is your opinion on it?” Valerius wondered.

“Interesting…” Tancred said weakly.

“That’s not a very strong word,” Valerius said, giving him a look. “And by Colin, do you mean the one who has that odd friendship with Timothy? I always thought there was more to their bond.”

“Yes, that’s the one. You can read the book to see for yourself,” Tancred suggested.

“No. I think it would be better if you read it out loud. Like a reading hour. I’ve heard some from the early 21st century talking on and on about these books. And maybe now would be the time to see if they’re any good or not. The books are about witches and wizards, is that right?”

Tancred nodded and then took the book from him. “The main character is an orphan boy who learns he’s a wizard,” he explained.

They sat down across from one another and Tancred began to read. He hoped that this would at least give Valerius something else to focus on besides his dark thoughts.

“I like the sound of your voice,” Valerius said idly.

As Tancred looked up to make contact with Valerius’s green eyes, he couldn’t help but be brought back to Valerius’s final meeting with him before leaving for home.

Nymeria had been asleep then, and with both him and Valerius being young and so consumed by the need to finish what they started… and at fourteen, Tancred had lost his innocence to Valerius. It was a truth he had wished he had remembered when everyone forgot about the First Family. But at least now, in death, Tancred did remember. Every touch. Every moan. Every moment of pleasure. The bliss that was without compare.

Tancred didn’t dare bring it up with Valerius now in the spirit realm. It felt all too awkward to address their time together. Especially since Tancred had adopted Valerius’s son as his own and married Valerius’s wife, Merida. He, Valerius and Merida made up a peculiar trio. Yet somehow they were all friends. Valerius had once told him that he was grateful that it had been Tancred who had helped his wife after his death. That he could not think of a better man to support her and his son when Valerius could not.

Morgana’s hands were shaking. She swore to herself as she attempted to write her frustrations in her diary. If there was one thing she sorely regretted at this moment it was ever having Char work for her.

That man was dangerous. She dearly wanted to seek her revenge against him. Not just kill him. Oh no. She would fuck him first as she was not wasteful. And she would fuck him again and again until he bled and was in pain. That’s when she would slit his throat with relish.

She jumped when she was heard a loud, sharp hiss of wind. Turning around in her chair, she checked to see if her window was open. When she found it was, she stood up to close the window.

When Morgana turned back around, she just stopped a scream from escaping her lips.

The ghost of Mordred, or a vision of hers come to life, stood before her. Mordred’s ghost smiled viciously at her, a shining sword pointed in her direction.

“Ready to meet your Executioner, My Lady?” He said, still smiling.

“Get… get away from me,” Morgana said, unable to stop the tremble in her voice.

Mordred glared at her. “You have no right to say that. No right! You did this to me! You killed me. You stole my life away from me! You deserve every misery the world has to offer you. I hate you. Words cannot describe how much I do. You betrayed me. I could have been your ally, but it seemed I was not good enough for you. What was it? Was I too young? Too inexperienced?”

“Mordred, please,” Morgana said quietly.

She stepped back, eyeing the sword carefully in case he decided to move for the attack.

“At least I know now who my true friends are. I thought Merlin hated me, and yet he cared enough to lay me to rest. He was willing to make a new start with me. I wish I had seen it sooner. I wish I had realized how the darkness had so deeply poisoned you,” Mordred continued. “You are nothing to me now. Nothing,” he declared with such finality that Morgana grew even more fearful that he would attack her. She forgot how to summon her magic to her, the terror was so consuming.

“I did what I believed to be right,” Morgana tried to defend herself, sounding as confident as she could.

“And now you must pay for it,” Mordred warned her.

Then he faded away, sword and all.

Morgana let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. The flames upon the candles flickered out until her room descended into darkness. She waved her hand to light the candles once again, but she was sure Char had done something to her magic. It took a few tries until all the candles were lit once again.

Her hands still shook no matter how hard she forced them to stay still. With a growl, she shoved her diary off the table and through sheer determination, she did not dare weep. Eventually, sleep came to give her some relief.

Char sensed a presence nearby, which woke him up. With his magic on alert, he was assured that it wasn’t anyone meaning them harm.

He looked around, finding that Gwaine was fast asleep. Good. Then he could take care of this unexpected visitor privately.

He walked some feet away from the campsite to meet with his visitor.

“Charmont,” a voice knew all too well said. The voice sounded older and wearier.

The change was to be expected. Char had last seen Lord Declan a long twelve years ago. Leaving Declan’s brothel had marked the end of a four year chapter of his life that he had been glad to see end. But Declan had been good to him, and Char had to admit that he became like a father to him during that unhappy time.

Declan came into view. He was wearing a dark cloak, and he pulled his hood down as he greeted Char.

Char let the man embrace him. He relaxed into the embrace after a moment. Though he respected Lord Declan for supporting him, that still didn’t take away from the truth that Char had been working for him. That in his service, Char had been paid to let others fuck him.

“You’ve grown into a fine young man,” Declan remarked in Latin.

“I haven’t changed that much since I left,” said Char with a shrug. He smoothly spoke in his mother tongue of Latin. It had been so long since he’d spoken in Latin, he was surprised it came so easily to him despite knowing it was due to the chameleon chip.

Declan gave him a small smile, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Your ghost friend, Matthew Stanton, told me you’re a father now. Congratulations. A very late one, I know. I wish you had visited.”

“I’ll be returning to Rome with my son soon. I don’t want him anywhere near the--”

Declan waved his hand. “No need to say any more. I understand. A brothel is no place for a child. I’m not offended.”

Char just resisted rolling his eyes at that. He had still been a child at fourteen when he’d started working at the brothel. Maybe to some, he would have been considered a man then, but he definitely hadn’t felt like it.

“How did you get here? Did Matthew help you?”

“Yes. He brought me here. I wanted to give you something. Something I tried to give you before you left all those years ago.”

Declan pulled out a golden ring from a pouch he was carrying.

“I still don’t want it,” Char said quickly, sounding petulant and feeling like he was fourteen again -- the age when he had met Lord Declan.

“I know you were unhappy with the actions of your father, but this ring is not just his. It’s a family heirloom, is it not? I believe it belongs with you, so it stays in your family. And when you pass away, your son will have this to remember you by.”

“The ring means nothing,” said Char, refusing to allow Declan to persuade him.

“Please, my boy. You know deep in your heart that this ring can’t be thrown away like a cheap trinket.”

The ring was passed down within the family over thousands of years. Char didn’t know how long the ring had existed for. It was in his family forever, it seemed, and was therefore priceless. Usually it was given from the parent to child when the parent was on his or her deathbed. But with Char’s father leaving so abruptly and hiding himself away, Char never had the chance to see him on his deathbed.

He wasn’t sure if he was glad to have been spared seeing his father fade away or angry that his father didn’t allow him a chance to say goodbye.

“Maybe it’s time the ring was retired,” Char decided.

“Still a bit stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I can’t think of the ring as a family heirloom. It would always be a reminder of my father abandoning me. That left me with little choice but to go with you, and…”

Declan raised his hand. “I understand. I always knew you were meant for more than working at a brothel. I’m sorry that you felt that way about your father. I always made sure to protect you as best as I could. Remember Riordan?”

Char certainly couldn’t forget that man.

_Most likely taking pity on him, Declan had made sure Char’s clients behaved decently – that they didn’t make him bleed or leave him in pain. They basically treated him as another human being and not a piece of flesh and bone they had paid to fuck. Char had become quite an expert at putting on his act of being the innocent youth. Actually, it wasn’t too far from an act since he had been rather young after all._

_He had heard how ‘pretty’ he was too many times to count. He hated hearing that as he inherited his looks from his father, who he of course was angry with. The reminder was painful and he did his best to keep his act going and not tell his clients to shut the hell up._

_The rather mysterious Riordan came along almost a year into Char’s time in the brothel. Char had just turned fifteen then. The auburn-haired man with the dark eyes soon became a regular client of Char’s. It was two years later that Riordan took things to the next level with him._

_“I arranged it with your Lord to have you exclusively serve me. The money you will receive from me will be more than enough to satisfy you. You won’t need to serve others,” Riordan informed him as he lay beside Char, kissing the fingers on Char’s right hand._

_Char’s shirt was off, but his breeches were still on. Riordan was completely naked though, a white sheet just barely covering the area below his waist. Char knew that soon Riordan would want him to perform. Though he appreciated the man’s kindness with him, he wished he could tell Riordan that he didn’t care one bit that the older man was so annoyingly rich that he was willing to pay the sum to keep Char from having other clients._

_The only happy news for Char was a way to get out of this brothel and maybe, oh, being able to be intimate with someone without them tossing coin at him afterwards._

_“That’s nice,” said Char, just to say something as he knew Riordan was expecting a response._

_“I thought you’d be happier. It would be better wouldn’t it? Not to worry about how to please others? Just me, only me,” Riordan said, his voice husky now, a whisper._

_He leaned over Char and began to kiss his neck. “I do not like thinking of others touching you. It drives me mad. And your eyes…why do they glow like that?” He asked in wonder as he kissed his way down Char’s chest, reaching the top of his breeches._

_Riordan removed his breeches, Char compliant as he moved the breeches down his legs and took them off completely, tossing them to the ground._

_Char was already aroused, though he wasn’t sure why. There was always something about Riordan that got his penis all flushed and angry red. He didn’t fight it, and just let the sweep of pleasure envelop him._

_“I don’t know why. That’s just how my eyes are,” Char answered as Riordan took him in his mouth and moved his wet tongue around the head._

_Char groaned, overtaken by desire and pleasure, and he came inside Riordan’s mouth._

_“You’re happy though, aren’t you?” Riordan asked him when he had removed his mouth from Char’s cock._

_Char’s come was spattered all on Riordan’s face, which amused Char for some reason. Maybe he had a little too much wine to drink earlier._

_Char wanted to say that he was as far from happy as one could be, but he was smart enough to know the truth was sometimes best kept quiet._

_“Yes, I am. I’m glad I will only serve you now. It would be my pleasure,” he said as passionately as he could._

_“Good,” Riordan said, smiling._

_They changed positions so that Riordan was on the bottom, and when he asked Char to ride him, he did. It was just another evening trying to survive in a world that had betrayed him._

“Yes, I remember him,” said Char with a sigh. “I spent most of my time with him after all,” he said.

“Strange man, I thought,” said Declan, shaking his head. “I should tell you the most important reason why I came to give you the ring. These old bones of mine are failing me… I want to make sure you get this ring as I fear we may not meet again.”

“Declan…if you need help, I will do anything I can. Without a second thought,” Char assured him quickly.

Declan gave him a small smile. He patted Char on the cheek. “I’m too old for magic, Charmont. Sometimes the truest mark of bravery is facing the unknown with your head held high. I’ll be fine,” he said, his tone firm and meant to brook no argument. “Well, that is, if you take the ring that rightfully belongs to you. Humour an old man, won’t you?” He asked of him simply.

Declan pressed the ring into Char’s open palm. Char let him. If it was true, and Declan was dying, then how could he refuse the ring any longer? He should grant this request of the man who had been like a father to him all those years ago. That was the honourable thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” Char said, at a loss as to what to say. His fingers curled around the ring. He wasn’t ready to put it on just yet. He called for his magic to hide the ring away in the same enchanted place he stored all his things. It was an intangible place that only he could access, a construct made out of his magic.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” said Declan fiercely. “I am glad to see you again and to know you have a son. And I’m sure he thinks the world of you.”

“He does…yes, I hope so,” Char corrected himself, still not feeling completely confident in his role of father even after ten years.

The Faery Princess possessing his son made raising him more complicated and confusing. There wasn’t someone he could ask to offer him advice on such a possession. Right now he wanted nothing more than to be with his son. It wouldn’t be long now that he could take him and start anew in Rome within the safety of the Royal Isle magic realm.

“Good. Good,” said Declan. “Take care of yourself and your son,” he wished Char.

Declan hugged him again.

“Take care of yourself too,” Char said, not ready to say goodbye.

He wanted to pretend that Declan would be okay even if it turned out to be a lie.

The older man nodded at him before slipping his hood back on and then he walked away, fading away into the darkness of the night.

Char was about to make his way back to the camp when he sensed something peculiar. There was a presence in the forest. He couldn’t resist investigating. His magic was telling him that it wasn’t a hostile being. In fact it was someone familiar, but he wasn’t positive who. The person had magic of their own, cloaking them for exact identification.

He walked into the forest, all his senses – both magical and non-magical – at attention.

“Charmont, you came,” said a voice he knew all too well.

Riordan.

His hair was a brighter shade of red now and his skin looked smoother like he had gotten younger instead of older. It was rather strange but Char was more interested in making a quick exit. He wasn’t in the mood to talk with the man who he had all but owned him for that final year before he left. Every night, sometimes more than once a day, he had to perform for Riordan because he was paying for him. And of course, Char had wanted that money to make a new beginning in a different land – that being here in Albion.

“What is this? Is my past coming back to visit all in one night?” Char wanted to know, annoyed. He crossed his arms against his chest, glaring at him.

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” Riordan said with a cheeky smile.

Then before Char could reply, vines magically appeared and bound him to the tree at his back.

“Is this really necessary?” Char asked him, frowning.

“I do like a captive audience,” said Riordan, unrepentant. He kept on smiling.

Char wanted to punch him, but he stayed calm. He knew Riordan, and even now, he could tell the other man wasn’t here to harm him. Fuck him, yes, that was a possibility but Char could handle that just fine.

Riordan came closer to him and pressed his lips to Char’s and slipped his tongue into his mouth which anticipating, Char had opened to allow Riordan to deepen the kiss.

Riordan pulled away after a few moments of heated kissing.

“You know,” Char began, “this would be easier if you didn’t have me restrained. Not that I’m interested in taking this further, but I’m not planning on running away.”

“You built up more muscle,” Riordan remarked, more speaking to himself and completely ignoring what Char had just said. He touched Char’s upper arm and ran his finger down the arm as if to feel the muscle.

“It’s been twelve years. It happens,” said Char curtly.

“Hmm of course,” Riordan murmured.

“Could you just say what you need to say?” Char demanded of him.

“Simply that you are not the only one so talented at putting on an act,” Riordan said, smiling nostalgically. “I have lived a very long time, you understand, and during that time I have had many faces and many different names. Some like to call me Dionysus.”

“You’re a god,” Char concluded, swearing silently to himself. How could he not have suspected all those years ago?

Riordan grinned. “Yes. Now aren’t you honoured that you were in the service of a god?”

“Maybe I’d be honoured if said god didn’t have me bound to a tree for no good reason.”

His magic was unable to overcome the magic of a god, so Char was left, resigned, to his current state.

“I’ve been following your bloodline for centuries,” he continued on, pacing in front of Char. Char felt like he shouldn’t even bother speaking if Riordan or Dionysus or whomever he was didn’t bother listening to him. “You’re a part of a very important family.”

“Yes. We’re so important that everyone’s forgotten about us. Yes. Terribly important,” Char said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“I remember Kearney and how he was so unhappy with me when I asked to…spend time with his younger brother, Caspian. He demanded I leave him alone. I was so impressed by how protective Kearney was of his brother that I yielded to his demand. It was no trouble. After all, I was able to spend time with Kearney…”

“You mean you had sex with him.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Riordan said, bemused.

“As enlightening as this family history lesson is, I don’t want to hear about my ancestor fucking a god, thanks.”

“I just wanted you to know that it’s a long-running tradition that I’ve made myself known to your family.”

“How nice. It’ll be a story I can’t wait to tell my son,” Char shot back, irritated. “And let me make one thing perfectly clear, if you touch my son while I’m alive, you will have to answer to me. I don’t care if he’s of age at the time, I don’t want you near him. I don’t care if you’re a god and more powerful than me. You do not want to make me angry. Understood?”

Riordan nodded, smiling and looking pleased. Char hated that it seemed like nothing – not even an outright threat unsettled him.

“Yes I understand. I know you only want to protect your son. I will honour your request,” he assured him.

“And now I have an offer for you,” said Riordan.

A coin bag looking to be quite full appeared in his hand.

“I don’t need your money,” Char said immediately.

“I heard you were returning to Rome with your son,” said Riordan. “But even if you will be in a magic realm, you cannot stay there forever. You are still human after all and need to be amongst your fellow kind. I know you don’t have enough coin on you to support you and your son while you’re in the human realm.”

“I make the best of it. There are always jobs I can do for the money.”

“Yes, but you see…this bag has enough gold coins that it would make even the wealthiest nobleman very happy indeed. You won’t have to worry about money for many months. You can focus on looking after your dear son instead of finding odd jobs for quick money…” Riordan persuaded him.

Char sighed. He couldn’t let this opportunity go. It wasn’t just him but his son he had to consider. And Riordan’s money had helped him when he had been eighteen and itching to escape the brothel and begin the next phase of his life. A phase that didn’t involve him being a whore.

“Fine. For my son’s sake, I’ll accept the offer,” he said in resignation.

Riordan unbound him from the tree.

Char stepped away from the tree, having had enough time pressed to the tree’s rough bark.

“You want me to fuck you?” Char assumed tiredly.

Riordan nodded. “It will be pleasant for both of us,” he said. “You should be grateful I’m asking for something so easy for such a great amount of coin. And I’m interested in seeing how much you’ve grown…” he finished lewdly.

He advanced on Char, and they started kissing again with Char smoothly removing his shirt and tossing it aside. Then he intentionally pushed Riordan back against the tree he’d been bound to so he could feel the roughness of the bark.

Char smiled to himself.

Small victories.

The castle of Thistlewood was in the center of the royal forest, a circular boundary surrounded the Faery castle like the trees had been purposefully planted in a circle. The castle itself looked to be constructed out of a clear blue crystal. It was full of towers and turrets, and Merlin thought it reminded him of those surreal, fantastical castles that had once slipped in and out of his childhood dreams. They were always elusive and made Merlin yearn for more time with them, to uncover the secrets of these strange castles bursting with magic.

“Welcome to Thistlewood,” said Sir Desmond.

Merlin heard Rilian gasp in awe.

“The both of you are hungry, I expect. You can eat and drink in the dining chamber.”

They walked into the courtyard which was teeming with Faeries. Merlin noticed that most were looking at both he and Rilian with great interest due to their lack of wings which clearly made them stand out. Yet from the words exchanged it was clear that Rilian was the one attracting more attention. And people were calling him by his name even though it was clear Rilian had never met any of them. He had never been in this realm before after all as far as Merlin was aware. Merlin was worried for Rilian as he shifted closer to Merlin’s side in his nervousness at the unexpected extra attention.

“What’s going on? How does everyone here know about Rilian?” Merlin asked Desmond.

“We Faeries know too much than we probably should about humans. Such as with you, Merlin, I know you’re a Dragonlord and to the Druids, you are known as Emrys,” he said with a nod, which served to make Merlin more uneasy. “We’re so small compared to humans when we are in the human realm. Even if we possess magic, we can still be left vulnerable. Sometimes size can be a great disadvantage. We arm ourselves with as much knowledge as possible about humans. That way, we know which humans have bad intentions and good…”

“…those to avoid and those you can count on for help?” Merlin concluded.

Desmond nodded. “Yes that’s right. I apologize, Rilian, if this makes you uncomfortable. No one will harm you here.”

“Okay,” said Rilian in a small voice.

Merlin could imagine that he was still thinking of Clara possessing him and being expectedly anxious around other Faeries as a result.

They walked up the white glass-looking stairs, but somehow they felt and sounded like rock.

The entryway was a large circular foyer with a central grand fountain giving off a spring of water at its center. A white raven perched on the wide bowl of the fountain, cawing as it splashed at the water with its beak.

“The white raven was a gift from Prince Philip -- or Pip as he likes to be called -- for his brother upon his coronation,” Desmond explained. “He was only six at the time so you can forgive the oddity of it. The prince was highly amused by the gift, and I believe over time, the King has grudgingly accepted it.”

“Bran means raven, doesn’t it?” Rilian piped up, looking pleased for knowing that name meaning.

Merlin wondered how Rilian would be now that he had the ability to grow and develop as normal. He’d probably devour a library full of books if given the chance.

The Faery Knight smiled. “Yes, of course it does. The problem is King Bran hasn’t been especially fond of what his name means. Yet he still kept the name out of respect for his mother and father, I suppose.”

“So the Prince was teasing him?” Merlin figured.

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up for him. And like I said, the prince had only been six years old then and was still mourning the loss of his parents just as his brother was. Understandably, the prince couldn’t help but to act out a bit to draw his brother’s attention.”

Merlin felt rather awkward with the mention of their dead parents. He assumed that yes, their father died if Bran ascended to the throne but it was terribly sad that they had lost both their parents. Especially for the prince who had been so young at the time.

“How old is the King now?”

“He’s twenty-six. The prince and he are separated by eleven years.”

Merlin could imagine the two brothers having trouble getting along. With those many years separated between them, he could see the King treating his younger brother more like a son than a fellow sibling. Especially with their parents gone and Pip still needing a guardian to raise and care for him.

“The King must really like it now if he has the raven here where everyone can see it,” Rilian mused.

“At the end of the day, they’re still brothers and they care for one another. The King set aside his pride and didn’t hide the gift away. It’s the mark of a good King, to be able to show some humility once in a while,” said Sir Desmond. Then he added, “That said, when it comes to the matter of humans, King Bran and his brother have reason to argue.”

“But hasn’t the prince managed to convince his brother to see humans in a better light?” Merlin hoped, still thinking of Arthur.

Pip’s brother would be the deciding factor after all to Pip offering assistance or not. He had to hope that there was at least a chance that King Bran was more open-minded with his younger brother’s influence than other Kings within the Faery Realm.

Desmond looked at him like he had said something ridiculous. “There’s not very much the prince can do. He is much younger after all, and it is usually more difficult for the young to change things. King Bran came to the throne at seventeen, Merlin. He had enough trouble proving his mettle as King at that young age. All the other rulers would believe he’d gone completely mad if he began a pro-human agenda and overturning centuries-old laws.”

Merlin thought of Arthur then and the difficulty he would face lifting the magic ban that had been in place for years. Merlin didn’t envy Arthur being in that position, but he would be there to support his King in any way he could to ensure magic flourished in Camelot again. He couldn’t fathom how incredibly hard it would be for King Bran to change laws that had been around for hundreds of years. Any sane ruler would be wary of that level of change and stick to what was safe. Merlin could understand that. Sometimes going for the riskier choice was a recipe for disaster and other times, it was the start of a new brighter future for a kingdom.

Merlin sincerely hoped the lift of the magic ban would result in the latter outcome.

“On a lighter note, this way is the dining chamber,” Desmond directed them.

They entered the dining chamber to find a long table laden with food.

“Wow,” said Rilian.

“This is a lot of food for just the two of us,” Merlin remarked.

“Of course we don’t expect you to eat it all. The rest will be for supper. It has been a very long time since humans have visited Thistlewood. It has become an event worth special attention as a consequence. The faeries in the kitchen couldn’t resist over-preparing,” explained Desmond.

After almost an hour, they were satiated with all the different meats, breads and cakes on the table. They downed it all with some water, and Merlin couldn’t resist taking a drink of the ale and a bit of the honeyed mead. He needed to fortify himself for what he had to do – asking for aid to cure Arthur. He gently dissuaded Rilian from the alcohol when the boy looked very interested in trying some himself. Merlin was no parent, but he knew enough that the last thing a five-year old should be drinking was alcohol. He could just imagine the boy’s father glaring at him and demanding why in the world his son was drunk.

No thanks.

Rilian looked disappointed, but to Merlin’s relief, he didn’t continue arguing with him as children liked to do. He still watched him carefully in case Rilian planned to sneak behind Merlin’s back and take a sip. That was something else children liked to do, he knew, especially from personal experience. All the times he and Will had found delight in doing the opposite of what grown-ups told them to do. The worst had been when they hadn’t been able to get away with it and had to deal with their punishments.

Desmond announced that it was time to see the King.

“What sort of Faery was your mother?” Merlin asked him as they walked down the corridor. Rilian walked a bit ahead of them, investigating the pictures lining the walls. “You know, with the flowers on your sword being because of her?”

Desmond was silent for a long moment like he wasn’t especially up to discussing this with Merlin. But fortunately, he gave in and answered him, “My mother was a full-blooded Flower Faery. Each kingdom in the Faery Realm has Flower Faeries. They are the minority group all throughout the realm. There are natives of each kingdom – my father was a Thistlewood native and a part of the Knights Guard under King Bran’s father. And then there are the Flower Faeries. Even in your realm, Flower Faeries exist but the smarter ones typically hide themselves away in secret gardens so humans won’t trouble them.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of Flower Faeries. What are they like?”

Desmond told him, “Flower Faeries are, by their nature, very peaceful faeries. They have a magical affinity with flowers and they enjoy conjuring flowers and tending to their gardens. It is their ultimate passion and purpose in life. The situation has changed for them in the last few centuries…Faery politics…all rather dull, I assure you, but the rulers within my realm decided that Flower Faeries needed to learn how to fight. That they were no use to Faeries being so peaceful. We are…concerned…about humans invading our realm and destroying our sanctuary and taking away our Faery magic. So we need to arm ourselves. Defend ourselves.”

“Yet that’s not in line with the inherent nature of Flower Faeries?” Merlin guessed.

“Yes, unfortunately so. There was an ultimatum – those Flower Faeries who were willing to learn to fight would remain in the Faery Realm. Those who did not, who chose to stay true to their peaceful tradition were forced to live in the human realm and fend for themselves there. A terrible choice, yes. But like I said, the cleverer faeries realized that the solution to surviving in the human realm was to, well, make themselves invisible.”

“But then your mother was one of the lucky ones? She was able to live in the Faery Realm.”

Desmond’s face clouded over. Merlin could see that there was something the Faery wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t want to press. “Yes, fortunately her ancestors chose to fight and that fighting desire was passed down to her,” he said after an almost stifling silence.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with her before she passed away,” Merlin said quickly.

“I am too,” the Knight said. He looked unhappy about the topic of conversation.

Then Rilian asked about some of the paintings and Desmond answered his questions. Merlin was left to ponder how Desmond’s mother had died because he could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. That it was not just a natural death.

Fortunately, they arrived in the throne room after another turn down a corridor. Rilian held Merlin’s hand as Sir Desmond led them inside the room.

Merlin saw three thrones as he approached. Clara sat at the far left, and Merlin felt a greater pressure on his hand as Rilian squeezed it more tightly in his anxiety at seeing the princess. Clara’s father, King Bran, sat in the middle in the tallest throne while presumably, his younger brother, Prince Philip, sat to his right. The King and his brother both had golden eyes, but King Bran won when it came to a more startling appearance between the two. The Faery King’s complexion was very pale, snow-white, and his hair was pure white as well. He looked like he had an affliction that sucked all the colour out of his skin and hair. His tunic was blue with white and gold embroidery and his crown was a deep blue with gold bordering the whole ornamental head piece. His brother had a more normal fair complexion and his hair was brown.

There was a younger dark-haired man, about the prince’s age, standing just behind Prince Philip’s throne. Merlin wondered if he could be the prince’s manservant. Something about him made Merlin uneasy particularly because his eyes were darker than should be normal.

The prince was the only one to smile in friendly greeting toward them. Clara looked lost in her thoughts as she barely acknowledged either of them, which seemed to relax Rilian a bit. He let go of Merlin’s hand.

King Bran gave them a tight smile.

“Your Highness,” Sir Desmond said formally, acknowledging with a bow of his head. “This is Rilian, and the Dragonlord, Merlin.”

“I am sorry for what you went through, Rilian,” the King said. “I have told my daughter that what she did was very, very wrong. She won’t be allowed within the human realm for a good long while.” He assured Rilian.

The King even sounded contrite, but Merlin didn’t miss the formality of it – it wasn’t as sincere as it could have been. It was a start though and it was expected, he supposed, with the general sentiment toward humans in the Faery Realm he’d been informed about from Desmond.

“Thank you,” said Rilian in a small voice.

Bran turned his head in Merlin’s direction. “And you are Tancred’s descendant, I presume?”

“Would it be a good thing to say I was? Or bad?”

“I’m just making conversation,” said King Bran with a shrug, not choosing to answer Merlin’s question which frustrated him a bit. “I see in your eyes that you want to request help. Is that true?”

Merlin swore to himself. So he couldn’t hide much from the King it seemed.

“Yes, actually. Not for myself, but for a close friend of mine. A friend who means everything to me.”

“What does he need help with?”

“He has been cursed with an aging spell. I need an antidote to return him to his true age.”

“Ah, and you know that we Thistlewood faeries have the specialty of youth spells? How very fitting,” said the King.

By his criticizing tone, Merlin had a bad feeling that King Bran was going to say no.  
“Please, this friend is very important to me. I would give my life for him,” he pleaded with the King.

“And what is your friend’s name? I’d like to have the details,” King Bran said stubbornly.

“Arthur. Arthur Pendragon… and I know there’s a magic ban in Camelot now, but he plans to lift it. He’s willing to cooperate with magic users including Faeries. I’ll be by his side helping to ensure Camelot will welcome magic once again,” Merlin said, feeling his confidence increase as he spoke.

“A King I’ve never met may be courteous enough to give me aid should I ask of it!” King Bran said darkly. “Let me tell you of what my forefathers had to go through. Centuries ago, we trusted a human King, a High King in fact, and what did he do? He led all us Faeries to slaughter though he convinced us this would be a battle we would win. The population of the Faery Realm still hasn’t fully recovered from that disaster centuries ago. So I’m sorry if I don’t trust a human King. And the last thing I would consider is helping him! Maybe it’s better that this King would die. One less human King to worry about. The ground in the human realm is saturated with the blood of fallen Faeries if you’d like to know,” he finished, glaring at Merlin.

Merlin had no idea of this history, and he wasn’t sure how to convince this Faery King that he could trust Arthur. King Bran had sounded so upset and angry as he spoke of the past that Merlin’s words of persuasion left him, useless now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Arthur is a good man. I solemnly swear on my mother’s life that neither I nor Arthur will put your kingdom in danger and risk the lives of your people. I just want to free Arthur of a curse that an enemy forced on him.”

“And who is this enemy who cursed him?”

“The High Priestess Morgana,” Merlin said, anger coming into his voice as he spoke her name.

“Is she not his half-sister?” The Faery King asked. “What a loving family your King has,” he mused.

“Perhaps by blood, but any feelings of love have long since vanished when Morgana betrayed him, betrayed the kingdom she once called home.”

“Of course. Still sad how families can fall apart like that. Betrayal is such a terrible thing.”

“Yes it is,” Merlin agreed.

“I want to help,” Prince Philip spoke up. “I know I can do it. It’ll be similar to what Clara did with possessing Rilian, but I won’t stay very long. Just enough time to use my magic to reverse the spell and I’ll leave. I’ll only feel a bit tired afterwards. And if you care so much for this King, then it would be a worthy cause.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pip. You’re not helping a human. You’d be risking your life. You don’t know if this King’s dear half-sister will kill you before you can help him. It is dangerous.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” the prince shot back stubbornly. “The greatest reward comes with the most risk achieving it, isn’t that right?”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m still not allowing you to go through with this.”

“I wish you would let me make my own decisions, Bran! I’m almost sixteen! You can’t just stop me from doing something and use the excuse that I’m too young to understand.”

“Except you are too young to understand. Merlin cares more for his King than he does for you. He barely knows you! And you barely know him. Merlin won’t mind if you die if that means his King will live! I’m only ensuring your safety!” The King argued. Then he turned to face Merlin. “What do you say to that?”

“I don’t want anyone to die. If there is anything to avoid the prince risking his life, then I’d much rather do that. I didn’t come here for someone to risk their life. Is there some sort of antidote that you have? Something with Faery magic to reverse Arthur’s aging spell?” Merlin asked hopefully.

“No,” King Bran answered so abruptly.

Merlin wondered if there actually was, but the King didn’t want Merlin having access to it.

Then Merlin’s attention was drawn to the dark-haired young manservant who looked ill. His face had paled and he looked close to collapse.

“Ciaran? Are you okay?” The prince asked in deep concern.

He quickly stood up from his throne to give Ciaran a hand.

“Why is he sick?” Rilian asked Merlin.

He shook his head. Merlin didn’t know.

He saw Sir Desmond frowning though, looking worried even a bit fearful. Suddenly all thoughts of Arthur left Merlin’s mind as he tried to make sense of this unexpected turn of events.

“I can’t let you help a human,” Merlin heard Ciaran say. “I cannot.”

He saw Ciaran gripping the prince’s wrist tightly. Too tightly by the hiss of pain he heard from the prince.

“Ciaran, please, you’re hurting me,” Prince Philip said.

“My Lord, get away from him,” Sir Desmond demanded in urgency.

“Yes, listen to Desmond, Pip,” King Bran said.

“No no no no no,” Ciaran said, shaking his head. He was sweating.

“He’s my friend and he needs help,” the prince argued. “I won’t leave him.”

Prince Philip knelt beside Ciaran who had collapsed to the floor.

“Pip! For once in your life, listen to me!” King Bran exclaimed, a tinge of alarm in his voice.

The room fell into complete darkness.

Merlin panicked because he couldn’t see Rilian. The boy had let go of him earlier and in this darkness he felt like he had gone blind. Then he remembered that he could use his magic, and he quickly conjured a ball of light, one of the most instinctive things he could do.

Yet the light was having trouble penetrating the heavy darkness. Merlin felt like the darkness was pressing down on him, suffocating him. Had Ciaran done this?

The darkness was gone just as suddenly as it came.

Dread came over Merlin as he saw that Prince Philip was lying on the ground and he didn’t look like he was breathing. Clara was on the ground beside her uncle, trying to nudge him awake. She kept asking her father why the prince wasn’t waking up. Tears came silently down her face and Sir Desmond tried to gently move her away from her uncle but Clara, stubborn, protested loudly and refused to be removed from his side. She hugged his limp body and though she was small, she seemed to have an extraordinary strength if a knight’s attempts to remove her were defeated.

This wasn’t what Merlin had wanted to happen. He only wanted to save Arthur’s life not to see a family suffer a loss.

Ciaran was standing up now, his hand – fingers extended – directed at Rilian. And Merlin saw why King Bran’s focus was not on his daughter.

“This must all end. The world must end!” Ciaran shouted.

Rilian stood there, frozen in his terror, as any young boy would be.

Ciaran looked ready to aim a spell at him.

Merlin had to protect him. He had to get to Rilian. Yet Ciaran anticipated his move and threw Merlin back with his magic.

But to his great shock, King Bran moved lightning fast before Merlin could recuperate. The Faery King stood in front of Rilian, shielding the boy, and his white Faery magic formed a great shield against Ciaran’s grey-white magic. It was almost like Ciaran’s magic had been tainted.

“You will not hurt the boy under my watch,” King Bran declared.

Ciaran buckled under the powerful force of the King’s magic. He was no match for a Faery King’s magic it seemed.

Rilian ran to Merlin and he threw his arms around his neck. Merlin could feel him shaking, trembling against him.

“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe,” he said softly to him, assuring him. He pet his head and hugged him.

“I want my father,” Rilian said plaintively.

“You’ll be with him soon. I’ll make sure of it,” Merlin said, giving him a small smile.

Merlin stood up with Rilian still in his arms. Judging by the boy’s obvious anxiety, Merlin decided it was best to stay a good distance away from Ciaran, so he stood in place and let Rilian rest his head on his shoulder. Rilian had been through too much today; of course he would be exhausted.

He was surprised to see Ciaran’s black eyes change color to brown. And then Ciaran looked around him, confused, as if he had no idea what he had been doing.

“What have I done? Oh my god, what I have done?” Ciaran cried out, panicked.

“You killed my brother. You killed Pip,” King Bran said coldly.

“No! He can’t be dead!” Clara exclaimed defiantly.

Sir Desmond took her in his arms, trying to comfort her but she only beat her tiny hands against his chest as she sobbed.

Ciaran looked so utterly lost. He didn’t say a word. Until…

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet whisper that Merlin was just able to hear from his distance. Perhaps his magic had heightened his hearing.

Ciaran transformed then into a great pile of flowers which then began to wilt away.

Sir Desmond announced, “Ciaran is dead, Your Majesty. A final fate that no full-blooded Flower Faery would ever want. The need to make them fight over the last few centuries has had devastating effects. A madness grips them and they can hurt even those that they love. There is no reason in madness.”

“I thought… I thought. He and Pip were so close. I thought that would help,” King Bran said, frowning. “And Pip had been threatening to reside permanently in the human realm. He was so desperate to learn the reason why he liked spending time with humans. His friendship with Ciaran was what kept him here. I thought their bond would be enough to help Ciaran.”

“I wish it had been, Your Majesty. I wish it had been,” Sir Desmond said with a sad sigh.

Merlin recalled that Desmond’s mother had been a full-blooded Flower Faery too. He didn’t dare bring it up though. After what Ciaran had done, it was surely the last thing the Faery Knight wanted to discuss with Merlin, someone who he barely knew.

With Rilian still asleep on his shoulder, Merlin approached them. “I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t want this to happen. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will,” Merlin offered.

The King shook his head. “All I ask is to ensure Rilian returns to the care of his father. That will be the greatest help you can offer.”

Merlin nodded. “Of course.”

He couldn’t help but wonder about Ciaran’s words about the world ending and then his aim to attack Rilian. Had Ciaran just been saying random words in his madness? Or was there more to it than Merlin knew?

Because the idea of killing Rilian bringing about the end of the world sounded completely unbelievable.

Right?

A small doubt in his mind made him reconsider. But Merlin knew this was the wrong time to ask about it after the King had just suffered the loss of his younger brother.

It would be a question for another time.


	2. The Dawn of a New Age

Arthur wondered what the hell a big hole was doing in the middle of a corridor. It completely blocked his path as there was no way to walk around the hole, the circle creating a frustrating barrier in the hall.

“Where did you come from?” He asked out loud even if he knew no one would answer. Having no one to talk to forced him to seek out any opportunity to talk aloud even if it was to himself. It would do him no good to have his voice fall into disuse.

Arthur contemplated whether the hole had a connection to his surprise ghost visitor, Valerius. This would be just the sort of thing he would do, Arthur decided. The man was strange enough, and he clearly possessed magic. So it was a logical conclusion he thought with a nod to himself.

Cautiously, he approached the hole and he peered at it closer. Down below only laid darkness and it was certainly a place Arthur wanted to avoid.

Then a wretched blast of wind caused Arthur to lose his balance and he fell into the hole.

He shouldn’t have come closer, he thought, reprimanding himself. Now he was falling, most likely to his death because his curiosity got the better of him.

Arthur braced himself for a terrible landing, hoping that he wouldn’t die from this. If he did, then how would Merlin find him with him being stuck at the bottom of the hole?

He felt himself slow down, as if by magic, and he landed on a soft, welcoming surface. Relief swept through Arthur as he looked at the blessed grass that had broken his fall.

He was still alive.

Now he just needed to find someone to get him out of here, wherever here was.

Standing up, Arthur looked around him and he couldn’t deny that where he had landed felt like a paradise. He half wondered if he had actually died and was now in Heaven. He saw the entrance to a thick forest just a few paces away from where he stood.

A big oak tree stood just behind him. It looked strong and a bit imposing. Arthur found it odd that the tree was on its own and not amidst the other trees in the nearby forest.

The sky was a clear blue with few clouds rolling past, and those that did were in the shape of different animals. Arthur saw one of a winged horse and shook his head in disbelief. The place must be magic. Clouds just didn’t do that. He recalled Merlin telling him about being able to make animals out of clouds or smoke with his magic. Arthur thought that Merlin would be right at home in this place then. The temperature was ideal, not too hot and not too cold and Arthur couldn’t help but believe the temperature was magically controlled as well.

He walked to a stream that ran on the opposite side of the forest. He saw two young women, or girls really because they looked to be only fifteen at most, conversing excitedly beside the water. Arthur began to doubt that they were completely normal considering their long hair looked more like water than well, strands of hair.

Arthur listened in on what they were saying.

“I heard Charmont is going to the Royal Isle with his son,” said the one wearing a white dress.

“Oh just because it’s royal doesn’t mean it’s better than here,” said the other who wore a pale purple dress.

“His son will have another birthday and he’ll return with him. Birthdays happen every year after all,” she said, very sure of herself.

“Charmont is so handsome,” her friend said with a long wistful sigh. She fell back on the grass, so obviously lost in her daydreaming.

“Never mind them,” spoke a female voice behind him.

Arthur just stopped himself from jumping in surprise.

He turned around and a brunette woman stood before him. She looked older than the two girls – Arthur would say she was around Gwen’s age. Yet thinking of Gwen now reminded him that she was dead and he couldn’t bear to dwell on her any longer. It was far too painful.

The woman had warm brown eyes and strangely, small leaves grew out of her wrists. A crown of twigs, leaves and little white flowers rested on her head. Her green dress fit her well, her skirts swaying in the gentle wind.

“Young naiads like those two can have a penchant for their heads being in the clouds. I believe that’s the saying?”

Arthur nodded, only half-listening. He still felt overwhelmed by this place where no one looked completely human.

“Are you the Queen of this place then?” Arthur guessed.

The woman nodded. “Yes. My name is Alice and you’re in Eirias Valley. It’s a magic realm that not many humans get to see these days.”

“I’m Arthur,” he introduced himself. “And why don’t humans come here very much?”

“Times change,” Alice said simply. “I’ve lived a very long time and it can be a lot to bear seeing how much has changed – both good and bad.”

“You don’t look like you lived that long,” Arthur couldn’t help but say.

Alice smiled at him. “Thank you. Yet appearances can be deceiving.”

Arthur was very familiar with that sentiment. He thought of Merlin and him being a powerful sorcerer when all those years, Arthur saw him as his idiot yet brave and loyal manservant.

“Who is Charmont?”

“He is the High King. He should be the ruler of this realm, but he told me he didn’t think he’d be a very good leader. And that he felt it best that someone who called Eirias Valley home should be in charge of the place. This realm is a part of Charmont’s inheritance, you understand, so he never asked for it. He is a good man at heart yet sometimes…he has his troubles as anyone. He is an advisor for me, so he remains involved in ensuring Eirias Valley thrives.”

Arthur couldn’t quite understand how anyone could pass on leading a land. Being King of Camelot was what he had wanted since he was a young boy. To not want it would have been a mad idea to him. And he too had inherited the position thanks to his bloodline. But everyone had the right to have different preferences, and even if he didn’t comprehend it, he had to accept that not everyone felt the same way as him.

“From what one of the naiads said, I’m assuming Charmont doesn’t live here?”

“Yes that is so. He and his son are both human and it is best for them to live in the human realm among their own kind. Eirias Valley is a beautiful place and everyone is pleased to live here, but for humans… it’s hard to stay here for very long and not get caught up in the enchantment of this realm. Unfortunately it becomes harder to feel the desire to live in the human realm. When compared to here, the human realm seems like a land of hardships.”

“So everyone here isn’t human? What are you then?” Arthur asked, wondering.

“That oak tree that you passed… that is my tree. I am a dryad, a tree spirit. One of the oldest trees in the realm, actually.”

“Oh so that’s why…” Arthur said, pointing at her leaves.

Alice nodded, smiling.

“My friend Merlin would love this place more than me, I’d imagine,” Arthur brought up then. “I wish he had told me of his magic sooner. Trusted me with the truth,” he said wearily.

Not even this amazing realm could cure his unhappiness about Merlin’s lies. He couldn’t bear to kill Merlin for his treason of concealing his magic, but Arthur still couldn’t avoid the deep pain caused by such a betrayal of truth.

“Does this friend value the friendship he shares with you?” Alice asked him.

“Yes I don’t doubt that. Maybe he could have been acting the whole time, but in my heart, I don’t think so. I wish he had valued the trust between us. I trusted him with my secrets and yet he couldn’t trust me with his. I know he truly cares for me, but… it’s just a very overwhelming endeavor to lift the magic ban in Camelot. I don’t know where to start.”

“Even the bravest men can have their fears. Perhaps Merlin cared so much for the bond you two shared that he feared so dreadfully of it being broken beyond repair with the unveiling of the truth?” Alice suggested.

Arthur rubbed his brow. “Yes. You may be right. I am glad that he at least gathered the courage to trust me with the truth and to bear the consequences.”

“And I’m sure, if Merlin is as good a friend as you say he is, that he will help you with changing the laws and bringing your kingdom into a new age where magic will flourish once again,” she assured him.

“Yes, Merlin does like to help me. He has saved my life so many times that I can’t believe I’ve been so blind to the truth all these years.”

“But now you know the truth, and that’s what matters most. It’s the time to move forward and make the best of the situation.”

Arthur couldn’t believe he was getting advice from the spirit of an oak tree. The way she spoke sounded so wise and Arthur felt his head clear like it had been in a fog before. Alice gave him hope that he could make this work with Merlin. He could get past the hurt he felt, and he could make sure the bond he shared with Merlin would remain steady.

When all was said and done, Arthur just couldn’t imagine his life without Merlin supporting him by his side.

It was unfathomable.

“Could I ask you how to return home?” Arthur asked Alice. He couldn’t stay here forever after all. “I fell through a hole in my castle and landed here…and I have no idea how to return…to the human realm, as you said.”

“Oh, do not worry. I’ll help you to return home,” she reassured him.

“Do you know who wanted me to come here? Was it you?”

Alice shook her head. “I am sorry. I’m not very sure. I trust you had a good landing? You didn’t hurt yourself?” She inquired, sounding concerned.

“No bones broken. The landing was better than I feared,” Arthur told her. “I just have this aging curse on me. A ghost came by and made me feel younger, so I just need to return to my former appearance. Do you have anything to help with that?”

“No, dear. I’m sorry. All I can do is return you home.”

“I’ll just have to hope Merlin has succeeded in finding the antidote,” Arthur said, sighing.

He had faith in Merlin, of course he did, but his unsuccessful attempts at healing him before left some doubt in Arthur’s mind.

“I’m certain he will,” she said to him.

Alice’s confidence strengthened Arthur and spurred him to be even more hopeful.

Gwaine had woken up when Char had returned. He couldn’t miss the scent of sex coming from the other man. That was the last thing he had expected Char doing in the middle of the night. Then again, he didn’t know the man all that well. If there had been some sort of sex orgy though, Gwaine was disappointed that he hadn’t been invited. Because that was just the kind of thing he’d be more than happy to participate in. It was a more pleasurable way to release energy compared to fighting after all.

“How was the orgy?” Gwaine asked cheekily.

Char only looked mildly startled, disappointing Gwaine a bit because he was hoping for a stronger reaction.

“I wish I had half the interesting night you had,” Gwaine said.

“Trust me, you don’t,” Char replied sitting across from him.

“Tell me, who was it? A mysterious stranger? Someone you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Char only said, not willing to give Gwaine anything.

“I slept through the night like an idiot and now you won’t even tell me anything interesting.”

“I told you enough earlier, didn’t I?” Char reminded him.

“Yeah, maybe,” Gwaine said, shrugging.

Char raised his hand then, signaling for silence. “Bandits,” he said inside Gwaine’s mind, rightly startling the knight.

Gwaine quickly stood up though and grabbed his sword, scanning the area.

A group of about ten bandits came rushing out of their hiding spot amidst the bushes.

Fuck, Gwaine thought. He did find a thrill when the odds were against him, but still two against ten were not very good odds. Then again, Char was a sorcerer, so that should surely help.

Speaking of, Gwaine couldn’t see where Char had gone. What the hell? Had he abandoned Gwaine, leaving him when he could really use Char’s help the most?

He attacked bandit after bandit with relish. Then after the third bandit, he heard loud thunder in the sky.

The remaining enemy men were caught off balance from the thunder as there had been no sign of dark storm clouds approaching.

Then Gwaine got the shock of his life when a great big lion leapt over him and landed on one of the bandits, trapping the man. The lion roared mightily, frightening the hell out of the bandits watching the spectacle with growing fear.

The lion looked at the remaining bandits, roaring at them too.

The bandit that the lion had underneath him looked paralyzed in terror.

Then the lion jumped off of the man, and he stood, unable to speak and he could only point in disbelief at the large cat.

The bandits ran off, a very loud clap of thunder being the final straw for them.

The lion turned to Gwaine.

“I can’t believe you can transform into a lion,” Gwaine uttered, figuring it out who the lion was.

Char was a master of disguises after all.

The lion transformed, turning back into Char.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” said Char.

The bastard was even grinning. Gwaine decided he had enough learning about all the possibilities of magic. It was too much for him to process in such a short time.

“Yeah you know when I was a boy, I always dreamed of turning into a fucking terrifying lion,” Gwaine retorted, shaking his head.

“I don’t think I was that terrifying.”

“Why don’t you ask those bandits and see what they say?” Gwaine said to him. “And the thunder, that was you? You can control the weather then? Could you make it snow now?”

“I have my limits with the weather,” Char informed him. “But I could do snow…just in this immediate area to not alarm anyone.”

“I think you’ve done enough of that for now with those bandits,” Gwaine said.

Char smiled absently. His eyes glowed a brighter green and he spread his arms as he looked up at the sky.

Snow began to fall around them.

Gwaine looked around, impressed at the snow falling down every direction he turned, snow that was here thanks to magic.

“Amazing,” Gwaine uttered.

Char nodded to him, smiling. “Thank you.”

Then Gwaine couldn’t resist making the move and kissing Char on the lips.

Char obliged him.

Gwaine thought this made up a bit for him missing out on the orgy.

Mordred called to Ophelia in the hallway.

She smiled as she went to him. “Hello, Mordred,” she said.

He gave her the red and yellow roses he’d picked from one of the flower gardens. “I just thought you might like this. If you don’t want them, that’s all right…”

“Oh no!” Ophelia exclaimed. “I can never refuse flowers. Thank you, Mordred,” she said sweetly, taking the bouquet of roses in her hand.

She kissed him on the lips.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them,” Mordred said.

“It was very kind of you,” Ophelia complimented him, blushing.

Then they parted ways, Ophelia saying she was going to a gathering with some girls her age who had died in the 1980s and 1990s. But she hoped to see him again, maybe tomorrow.

Mordred wondered if he was falling in love with her, or he just had the need to connect with someone… he had never really given a girl flowers when he’d been alive or properly been with someone. And though he knew that Ophelia wasn’t exactly unattached, the reality of it was that Mordred was here, just as dead as her, while her husband was alive. So pursuing her wasn’t wrong, was it? For all Mordred knew, Ophelia’s husband had probably long ago moved on from his wife’s death and was more focused on raising his son. Perhaps he had found another woman to spend the rest of his life with.

Colin came down the hallway carrying a stuffed dragon toy.

“Hi!” Colin greeted him. He presented the toy dragon. It was a pink dragon with blue eyes. “Look, Tancred gave this to me. It looks very much like Nymeria. Remember I told you about her?” He said to Mordred.

Mordred nodded. “Yes I do. Who is this Tancred?”

“Oh! He’s a friend of my grandfather’s. He’s very nice. Tancred was a Dragonlord when he was alive. He knows all about dragons!” Colin said, sounding very excited.

He was grinning, and Mordred couldn’t help but smile back, his happiness contagious.

“I imagine he was pleased to know you liked dragons too.”

Colin nodded. “He even showed me his dragon who lives with him here. She looks just like this,” he pointed to the dragon toy. “And her name is Nymeria too!”

With all that Colin was telling him, Mordred was getting a strong feeling that this similarity between Tancred’s dragon and the toy wasn’t a coincidence. Then as he looked at Colin, Mordred got a quick flash of Merlin conjuring flowers over the head of his grave, the grave Mordred asked Merlin to make.

Mordred can’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner. Yet really, it wasn’t uncommon for children to have dark hair and blue eyes. Mordred doubted that Merlin would want to know that he would be reincarnated in the 20th century and then die only eight years later. But at least Colin seemed content in this spirit realm, and enjoyed making friends. Mordred thought it was a shame someone like Colin – or Merlin’s future incarnation if his suspicions were true – had died so young. He could have done something great with his life, Mordred was sure, if the fever hadn’t stopped him from doing so.

“Are you okay?” Colin asked, concerned.

“Yes, I’m fine. That’s a nice looking dragon,” Mordred said.

“Thanks! I need to show her to Timothy,” Colin decided. “See you, Mordred!” He said, waving at him as he ran off.

“Of course. It’s always Timothy,” Mordred said to himself, shaking his head in bemusement.

Before he headed down another corridor, an older man approached him.

“Hello, I’m Valerius,” he said, smiling. Valerius was quite a handsome man with blond hair and striking green eyes that reminded Mordred of Char.

He offered his hand, and Mordred shook it. “Hi, I’m Mordred.”

Valerius nodded. “Yes. Sir Lancelot told me about you. Recent arrival?”

“Yes I am.”

“I’ve been here for five hundred years.”

“That’s a really long time.”

“I know. I’ve worn out my welcome here. Can’t bear to leave. This place is like my home now.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to stay here for hundreds of years.”

“That’s what I thought, but well…here I am.”

“How do you know Lancelot since you’re both from different times?”

“Oh he hasn’t been here as long as me, of course, but he’s Freya’s righthand. They’re very close to one another. I met him through her. Freya’s position as a Guardian makes her well-known to a lot of spirits. She guides many who die in her time to this spirit realm and she serves as a mentor. I’m sure you know that as she came to bring you here, did she not?”

Mordred nodded. “Yes she did. The position suits her.”

Valerius agreed. “Freya is a very compassionate woman. She and Sir Lancelot make a fine team. Well it was nice to meet you. I’ll be seeing you around, I’m sure,” he said.

“Of course. Goodbye then,” said Mordred.

Valerius clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “It’s not easy getting through the first stages after death, but you just have to be patient and ask for help instead of keeping it inside,” he advised Mordred.

Mordred nodded numbly if only to show he had heard him.

Mordred stared after Valerius as he walked away, and he wondered who the older ghost was when he had been alive.

Matthew opened the door to his room to find Valerius there. He looked to be searching for something.

“I always keep meaning to lock my door,” Matthew mused.

Valerius looked at him, momentarily startled before he composed himself. “You kept it, didn’t you? After all these years?”

“I kept many things. If you’re more specific, I can better help you.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Matthew. An item once in the possession of a descendant of mine.”

Matthew directed him to sit down. Valerius did, taking a hardcover book from the table to idly peruse. It must be something big, Matthew thought, if Valerius needed to keep his hands occupied. “Why are you truly here, Valerius? I can see you rather speak about something else.”

“I met Mordred,” Valerius said after a long pause.

“Okay,” Matthew said.

“Have you talked with him?” Valerius wanted to know.

“No. Do you think I should?” He said in mild interest.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know why I’m even telling you this,” Valerius shot back.

“This is far from the best time to see him. It wouldn’t be… appropriate,” Matthew decided his words carefully.

“If you want that to be your excuse,” Valerius said, frowning. He peered closer at the title of the book he had taken. “Why do you have a book on ancient Rome?”

“I had to be prepared, didn’t I? Couldn’t time travel to ancient Rome and not familiarize myself as well as possible with its history.”

“Yes, but why do you have it now?”

“Sentimental attachment, I suppose. Nostalgia. I’m not going to toss a perfectly good book away,” reasoned Matthew.

Valerius gave a long sigh. He set the book back down on the table. “I’m positive I’ll get reborn as a rat or something else equally terrible. I know one day they’ll kick me out of here.”

“There are spirits that have been here longer than you. I don’t think they’ll force you to leave,” Matthew reassured him. “And remember, you’re given a choice about what you want in the next phase.”

Valerius didn’t look like he felt any better. “The talk of having a choice is to make us feel better. But in the end, powers beyond our control have the final say.”

“Many people have done far worse things than what you did, Valerius. You just proved that you were human and just as flawed as the rest of us. I know I’m not perfect either.”

“How many times have I heard that?” Valerius said out loud. “You know Tancred wishes to be a great big oak tree in his next life?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Matthew remarked.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Valerius muttered.

Matthew sighed, and then he wisely changed the subject.

Merlin and Rilian returned to the human realm. Merlin felt guilty at his part – no matter how unintentional – in the prince’s death. His plea for help had been the trigger that had set Ciaran off. After all, Faeries like Ciaran couldn’t fathom the idea of helping a human. Unfortunately Prince Philip lost his life because of that. Desmond assured him that sooner or later, something would have caused Ciaran to lose control.

He still felt guilty. It was such a loss, Merlin thought, that a Faery like Prince Philip had died when he had seemed to have a good heart and was willing to help Merlin even if it involved helping a human.

Despite that tragedy though, Merlin got what he had hoped for. In his hand, he had the vial of potion to remove the curse Morgana had put on Arthur.

Sir Desmond had given it to him, privately, as he told Merlin that he didn’t want the King to know. King Bran was so occupied, understandably, with funeral arrangements for his brother that he barely paid attention to them. Desmond had informed Merlin that Princess Clara was adamant that he receive the help he needed for Arthur. The Knight couldn’t bear to refuse her request. The thought of helping someone had managed to make her smile, a precious thing following her uncle’s death. He believed that the Prince had influenced his niece. She was just as interested as he had been in aiding humans.

Of course, her time with Rilian for all those years certainly affected her opinion of humans. Merlin thought that a Faery wouldn’t possess a human for that long without developing some form of affection for that human. Hopefully that would extend to humans at large. He hoped that she would follow in her late uncle’s footsteps.

To cure Arthur, Merlin had the last key ingredient. Sir Desmond told him that Clara had given him some of the excess Faery magic that she had been desperate to remove. When Merlin first met Rilian, and touched the boy while he was possessed by Clara, the magical energy was absorbed into him. Somehow Merlin had not felt the transfer, but the knight assured him that it had occurred. The energy Clara gave to him would allow Merlin to remain the same age for longer than normal. That he would see the changes when in a few decades, he still didn’t show signs of age.

But there was another use for this energy, for which Merlin was most pleased about. After Arthur drank the potion, Merlin had to only touch him – skin-to-skin. The Faery magic Merlin had in him would enter Arthur and return him to his rightful age.

Sir Desmond said that after the transfer, Merlin might still have enough energy from Clara to age slower. But Merlin didn’t care about that. He was just grateful that he could save Arthur. That he would thwart Morgana’s plans yet again.

The castle was still under a sleeping curse as Merlin entered it with Rilian by his side.

When they were at the entrance to the throne room, Rilian asked him, “Can I meet the King?”

Merlin knelt down in front of him so that he was at eye level with him. “In a bit, okay? I want to cure him first and then I’ll come to get you.”

Rilian nodded.

“Will you be fine here on your own?” Merlin asked him, concerned for his safety.

“I’ll be good,” Rilian promised. Then he looked down at his hands, nervous. “But it is different without Clara… it feels strange.”

“You just need to be patient, Rilian,” Merlin said to him with a reassuring smile. Then he felt like an idiot telling a five-year old to be patient. That was a difficult thing for young children after all. “You’ll get used to not having her presence.”

He patted his arm, and then he stood up. He couldn’t wait to see Arthur again.

Merlin entered the throne room and saw Arthur sitting on his throne. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur appeared to be in a better mood that the last time he saw him. He smiled when he saw Merlin.

“What happened to you?” Merlin wondered as he approached him.

“I decided that I wouldn’t allow Morgana to win. That I wouldn’t let her make me feel miserable,” Arthur told him.

“Okay. I’m glad that’s helped,” Merlin said, smiling. “I found a cure for you. It should work.”

“So your journey within the Faery Realm was well-spent,” Arthur concluded.

“Yes.”

“What about the sleeping curse on the castle? Can you fix that?”

“The sleeping curse will be lifted once you’re cured,” Merlin assured him.

“Good. That’s what I hoped to hear.”

Merlin then directed Arthur to drink the entire potion. After that, Merlin touched his hand, grasping it tightly and hoping this would work.

“Merlin,” Arthur said in a drawl, giving him a pointed look.

“What?”

“I haven’t seen you in days. I want more than just holding your bloody hand. You girl.”

“Clotpole,” Merlin muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Arthur stood up from his throne and grabbed Merlin’s face, kissing him full on his lips. Well, it was still skin-to-skin contact. Merlin tasted Arthur’s mouth and yearned for more. He felt the comforting sensation of magic as it enveloped Arthur and Merlin due to his close proximity to Arthur. Merlin watched as the years melted off Arthur’s face and his hair turning from white to his golden hair and soon, the Arthur he was most familiar with stood before him.

Reluctantly, Merlin pulled away from him. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said breathlessly. Arthur looked amused that Merlin needed a moment to catch his breath after the kissing. “The boy I was helping. His name is Rilian.”

“Is he feeling better? I remember you told me he was ill,” Arthur asked, frowning in his concern.

Merlin nodded. “Rilian was cured He’s doing much better.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear that. I’d love to see him. I want find out who you have been spending all this time with without me,” said Arthur, pretending to sound petulant.

“Impossible,” Merlin muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Then he beckoned Rilian to come inside.

“Hello,” said Rilian in a small voice. “I’m Rilian.”

“I’m King Arthur,” he introduced himself, smiling kindly at the young boy. “Merlin here told me you were ill? But you’re feeling better now, I hope,” Arthur said, giving Rilian a thoughtful look.

Rilian nodded. “Yes, I’m much better now, thank you. Merlin has been very nice to me,” he said.

“Well I’m surprised. Merlin is never nice to me,” Arthur quipped. “How fair is that, Merlin?” He turned to him, dragging out Merlin’s name in the way that Merlin couldn’t stand.

“I’m only as nice as you are to me,” Merlin shot back at him.

Rilian looked at both of them, confused. Merlin silently added this incident to his “Arthur’s fault” list.

Merlin patted Rilian on the shoulder. “Never mind the King. He thinks he’s funny.”

“Merlin is wrong there. I know I’m funny,” said Arthur smugly. He smiled, looking pleased with himself.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin let it go for now.

“You know I met a ghost with eyes that glowed green like yours,” Arthur told Rilian.

“Oh okay.”

“Perhaps he could be your ancestor,” Arthur said.

“Maybe. My father would know better.”

“Quite an interesting trait to inherit,” Arthur noted, and then he turned to Merlin. “I wonder, Merlin, are your ears inherited from your ancestors?”

“No,” Merlin retorted. “But my patience to deal with prat Kings is.”

He smiled, feeling quite satisfied.

“What a shame,” Arthur remarked, pretending to be unmoved by Merlin’s comeback.

Rilian looked at both of them in bemusement.

It was only a few hours later when Rilian’s father came to take him. Rilian hadn’t been wrong when he’d said his father had the same green eyes.

Rilian immediately rushed to his father, the older man lifting him into his arms.

“I’ve missed you so much!” The boy exclaimed. His father kissed him on the head, murmuring that he missed him very much too.

Merlin could clearly see the affection the two had for one another, and he felt that Rilian couldn’t be in better hands. He would miss the boy and wished he could have been spent a little more time with him.

His father introduced himself as Char.

“Thank you for looking after Rilian and for taking him to the Faery Realm. I am in your debt,” Char told him sincerely. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Oh no. Rilian was an angel. I enjoyed spending time with him,” Merlin assured him. “I’m glad he’s feeling better now.”

“Me too,” Char agreed. He shook Merlin’s hand and then he left soon after with his son.

It was a very long time before Merlin saw either of them again.

Char watched as his son slept. He thought of going to Ealdor, to see Hunith again and say his goodbyes before he and Rilian left for Rome. He knew it wouldn’t be easy as he had last seen Hunith five years ago and he had left rather abruptly. Char had found it hard to explain to her about what had happened to his son.

If he had stayed for a few more years, Rilian’s strangeness would be more noticeable and everyone would have questioned why he wasn’t growing as he should. It would have drawn unwanted attention to his son, and by extension to Char. And Char didn’t want to deal with that and he wanted to protect his son from the trauma that would cause.

He felt he owed it to Hunith to return and give her a proper goodbye and explanation about what had happened to Rilian. Now that Clara had left Rilian, Char could breathe easier. His son would grow and develop normally now, which he knew Rilian was quite happy about it. His son wanted to read as many books as he could so he could learn faster. Char told him he should pace himself as otherwise he would get a headache. But he was glad that his son wanted to learn, and Char would do all he could to help him with that endeavor.

The gold coins Riordan had given him would go towards taking care of Rilian and making sure he had what he needed. Yet Char didn’t doubt the money was more of a message that Riordan would keep in touch. No matter if Riordan was the god Dionysus and this amount of coins was probably a drop in the ocean for him, Char still couldn’t resist questioning it.

This was far more than a night’s fucking was worth. So of course he had to believe he hadn’t seen the last of Riordan. He hated to say that he did owe Riordan a lot. Most of the money he’d earned was from him especially during that final year he’d served Riordan.

Char let the mark of the dolphin appear below his chameleon mark. The two creatures suited each other well as Char hadn’t seen either of them in person. He had kept the dolphin hidden since it was an unwanted reminder of his past as a whore. Riordan had marked him with the dolphin, indicating Char was working for him but really it meant he was Riordan’s property. He remembered Riordan telling him that dolphins were clever, friendly creatures and that it was a fine animal marking to have. Char had just seen it as a symbol of him being a whore, and having to yield to Riordan’s whims.

He recalled when he’d been seventeen, just beginning his service to Riordan. 

_He had been walking through the marketplace, ignoring the looks of distaste and wariness among the other patrons and shopkeepers. It was like he wore a sign saying he was a whore, stuck in the dregs of society and beware for he is liable to steal your goods if you’re not careful._

_Char only wrapped his green cloak around him closer and tried to make himself invisible. He hated that he couldn’t even be here without being looked down upon. Unfortunately he didn’t succeed in passing through without getting assaulted which is what he feared most. All he wanted was to be somewhere that wasn’t in the brothel, but his desire came with a price._

_A man with greying hair grabbed him roughly by the arm. He shoved him down a narrow alleyway before Char could even think to yell. Not that anyone would care to help him anyway._

_“Let me go,” demanded Char. He tried to pull his hand away, forcing the older man to release his grip on him._

_The man only tightened his hold on him. “How old are you, whore?”_

_“I have a name,” Char shot back._

_“Don’t care,” said the man._

_“I’m not allowed to be with anyone else!” Char exclaimed, trying to sound braver than he felt. He put up his wrist so the dolphin mark would show. “That’s the mark of who owns me. And he will not be happy to hear about you.”_

_“You’re lying. I know you are,” said the man, his eyes narrowing at him in suspicion._

_“I’m not!”_

_“There’s no such thing as an honest whore,” the man continued, undeterred._

_“Why don’t you touch the mark then? See how real it is.” Char didn’t back down. He hoped to distract the man from hurting him and maybe give himself enough time to make a run for it._

_Still looking at him in deep suspicion, the man fell for it. Char wasn’t expecting the man’s face to burn when he touched the mark._

_Horrified, he watched the man scream bloody murder as the skin on his face melted under an onslaught of fire. Still shocked, he nevertheless listened to his brain urgently telling him to get away. Don't stay here. He rushed out of the alley, running like the devil was after him until he was within the safety of the brothel._

_He looked at the dolphin mark, touching it himself and only seeing the dolphin flip its tail and make a happy squeaking sound. It was a far cry from what happened when that man had touched it._

_Later that night when he was with Riordan, Char wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Yet it was Riordan who asked him casually, “I hope the dolphin mark is serving you well.”_

_“What do you mean?” Char asked. “I didn’t know the mark was meant to do anything but show I’m in your service.”_

_Riordan moved his lips down from kissing his fingers to the dolphin mark on Char’s wrist. When he pressed his lips to the mark, Char felt a wave of pleasure sweep through him. He couldn’t help but moan in response._

_“The dolphin loves you as I love you,” Riordan explained to him. “It is meant to protect you. I think you know why I’m telling you this.”_

_Char smiled. “Yes I understand,” he said. He didn’t feel it was the right time to tell him about what the mark had done to the man who’d assaulted him. He sensed that Riordan knew somehow._

_“I believe it’s a time for a drink,” Riordan declared. He handed Char a full glass of red wine, which he sipped slowly._

_“Why do you want me to be protected?” Char wondered. “No one will mind if I die. I’m sure of that.”_

_“One day you will learn the truths you must live by. You will see just how important, how special you are to the world.”_

_“You’re not making any sense,” Char told him, doubtful about how sober Riordan was._

_Riordan laughed and then he stroked his cheek, kissing him on the mouth. And with that, the talk was over._

Riordan never did explain more about his importance. When Merida and Matthew Stanton visited him on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, only then did Char learn the truth.

But with Rilian, Char was going to make sure he learned the truth sooner. Then it wouldn’t be as much of a shock as it had been for him. Char had to pay the price for his father abandoning him, but he wouldn’t do that to his own son.

Castle life returned to normal. Of course, a somber atmosphere followed the loss of Gwen and Gaius. Camelot had lost its beloved Queen and wise Court Physician.

The funerals for both of them were emotional affairs and Merlin hated that he had to say goodbye to them. That Morgana had killed them. At least she had not succeeded in killing Arthur for now. Merlin felt hope growing within him as a new age of Camelot was approaching as Arthur, slowly but surely, relaxed the laws on magic.

And Gwaine had told him that he strongly believed that Morgana wouldn’t be a threat to Camelot any time soon. Merlin had asked him how he knew that, but Gwaine only shook his head, clapping his shoulder as he said, “It’s a long story that is half-mad, half-brilliant and you probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

So Merlin just accepted Gwaine’s word for now, and hoped one day he could wheedle out this long story out of him.

All in all, the golden age of Camelot that Merlin had yearned for was upon them.

There was just one thing missing. Arthur needed an heir.

Gwen tentatively approached the room where Freya and Lancelot were in a meeting. She wasn’t sure if she should see Lancelot or not, but she couldn’t resist any longer. Gwen did miss him.

She knocked on the door that was left ajar.

“Hello. I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.

“No, no, you’re just in time. I must go and see someone. You and Lancelot talk. I insist,” Freya said to her, smiling warmly at her.

Freya seemed to float across the room, graceful as always. “Please consider it, Lancelot,” she said to him before she left.

Then it was only the two of them left in the room. Alone.

“Hi,” said Gwen quietly. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” said Lancelot. “I’m sorry about that… the last time, Morgana was behind it. It wasn’t truly me.”

He approached her.

Gwen nodded. “Freya was kind enough to explain it to me. I am glad she did before I sought you out. Still, I believe a part of me knew that it wasn’t the man I first fell in love with all those years ago.”

“I’m glad,” Lancelot said. He put her hand upon her cheek, stroking it. Gwen looked into his eyes, mesmerized by the warm brown of his eyes.

“I don’t want to be dead,” Gwen blurted out, not sure why she said it. But the words were all too true. She still couldn’t believe she was dead and she couldn’t fully accept that she wasn’t alive anymore.

“It’s never easy,” Lancelot said sympathetically. He sighed. “I still have trouble too with being dead. I am lucky to have Freya’s support, and you have me, Gwen. You can count on me,” he finished softly.

He kissed her lightly on the lips and she embraced him, feeling better, in his arms.

She sighed. She would be okay. She was not alone. That would have to be enough.

Valerius sat on the park bench watching as Colin and Timothy flew their kites.

Tancred approached him, sitting down next to him. He held a wand in his hand that Valerius thought looked remarkably like his dragon staff except it was smaller. The dragon perched at the top with its tail curled around the top half of the stick had a touch of color to it. The dragon was pink with blue eyes, a purposeful similarity to Nymeria. Valerius didn’t doubt that.

“Hello,” Tancred greeted him.

“How’s Merida?” Valerius asked, knowing he had gone to see her.

“She’s happy. Rilian is doing well now. Char is relieved, as you can imagine.”

“It’s not the first problem the family has had and unfortunately it won’t be the last,” Valerius noted with a sad sigh.

“Yes well, better to think positively,” suggested Tancred.

“Thinking positively is for people who are alive,” Valerius argued.

“I see I caught you in a particularly cheerful mood,” said Tancred.

“Yes very,” Valerius shot back weakly as he looked ahead of him at the children flying their kites.

A trio of girls joined Colin and Timothy with their own kites. One of the girls had a pretend tiara on her head. Valerius had seen that there were some little girls who enjoyed digging into the boxes full of costumes and accessories for their role playing games. The children were excited, gleefully urging their kites to fall higher and faster.

Valerius waved his hand to create a stronger breeze to aid them and cause the kites to fly happily in the sky. The small group of children looked especially excited to see their kites flying so well. A few more children joined them and took advantage of the excellent weather conditions.

“Why did you make your staff a wand?” Valerius asked Tancred.

“You said my dragon staff was stupid,” Tancred reminded him.

“I don’t remember that,” Valerius said, shrugging.

“Of course not. I thought it would be easier having it like this. It’s more travel-sized, I guess you could say. Nymeria approves,” Tancred said.

“Hmm, good to know it passes her approval,” Valerius remarked. “Tancred…” he began, then trailed off uncertain how to continue.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you to become an oak tree,” Valerius told him.

“Why? The world can never have enough trees.”

“I just don’t think it’s a very good idea,” Valerius said. He wasn’t ready to say the real reason why he didn’t want Tancred to be a tree.

Tancred looked at him thoughtfully. “Well for you, I may reconsider,” he decided.

The two of them fell into companionable silence as the colorful kites flew high in the sky, the children chattering merrily below.

A year later, Arthur remarried for the sake of the kingdom. The princess’s name was Lily, and Merlin couldn’t help but be reminded of Gwen. Perhaps that’s why Arthur chose her. Arthur told him that still, no matter what; nothing would come between his bond with Merlin. He would love no one as much as he loved Merlin. Merlin thought that they might have married if either one of them could bear a child, but unfortunately that was not possible. Merlin was more than happy to step aside and let Arthur do what he needed to ensure the future of Camelot, a purpose he and Arthur were both dearly dedicated to.

After months of trying though, there was still no child. One night, Arthur came to Merlin’s new rooms given to him as a result of his new role as Court Sorcerer and Advisor. The dual positions had left Merlin very busy most days.

“Merlin, it’s me,” Arthur confessed to him unhappily. “Something’s wrong with me. I need your help. I want a child more than anything.”

“You know the price of magic. It’s a delicate thing, and your mother paid with her life.”

“Yes I know,” Arthur said wearily. “But you’re more powerful than Nimueh ever was, aren’t you? Surely there is a magical potion you can procure to help me?” He suggested.

“I shall try,” Merlin said. He wanted to help Arthur in any way he could, of course, but he feared that something would go wrong as magic, even for him, could be unpredictable at times.

Fortunately after a few months of experimentation, Merlin found a solution for Arthur. It was powerful potion and one of the most important ingredients was Merlin’s own magic.

Merlin informed both Arthur and Lily about it. Arthur would simply have to drink the potion before they were intimate. The only possible side effect was that the child could possess a bit of magic. After all, Merlin’s magic was in the potion.

While Lily seemed okay with the possibility – her grandmother had been a sorceress – Merlin was uncertain about Arthur’s opinion on the matter considering his past unpleasant history with magic. After all, magic had taken his mother and father’s life.

“I think it will be good for Camelot,” said Arthur carefully. “I will love my child no matter what. As long as he or she receives the right guidance, I trust they will use their magic wisely. I know you will make sure of that.”

Merlin nodded, smiling, assuring Arthur that he would do his best to mentor the child should any magical abilities manifest.

Nine months later, a healthy boy was born. He was named Gwion and Merlin thought he was beautiful. He had Lily’s dark hair and Arthur’s blue eyes.

As Merlin got his turn to hold Arthur’s son, he felt like he was holding his own. He smiled at the newborn, so overcome with emotion and happiness that he thought he’d burst.

“Lily and I want you to be Gwion’s godfather, Merlin,” Arthur declared, smiling. “What do you say?”

“Yes, of course yes,” Merlin said, grinning up at him and then Lily. “Thank you.”

Merlin felt like the end of the long road had come with Arthur accepting magic. And now, the start of a new journey had begun and it would be perhaps even better than the last.

Pip was able to gain special permission to a particular hall within the spirit realm. Maybe his desperation had shone through that one of the Faery Guardians took pity on him and allowed him entry into Reincarnation Hall.

In this place, the answer to his long time question had to be answered. He wished it didn’t have to come when he was dead. He felt that at least knowing why he liked humans when other Faeries didn’t would help in coping with being dead.

He followed the careful instructions the Faery Guardian had given him. Soon, Pip found the book he was mentioned in. He scanned the page dedicated to him. There were only two incarnations of him. The life he had lived as a Faery and then a life before that one.

Pip’s eyes widened. Now it all made sense. He had been human once, almost four hundred years ago. What shocked him even more was that once upon a time, he had been a reigning descendant of the First Family. He had even gone by the same name. How could he have missed this when Faeries knew all about humans particularly the First Family?

Maybe the reason why was due to the truth being unbelievable. And it also read that Philip was the first to receive the chameleon chip from the time traveler, Dr. Matthew Stanton. Pip was aware of this. His brother Bran had been very active in teaching him all he had to know about the First Family and their history.

Yet now it all held a new meaning to Pip. This Philip from centuries past had been him. And perhaps he’d remember this past life and his time with Dr. Stanton. This time-traveling doctor had always been a rather intriguing yet mysterious human for him.

Wanting to take advantage of his time here, Pip searched for Matthew Stanton to see if he had any incarnations.

Dr. Stanton had an incarnation, but Pip wasn’t expecting this one. He had met the doctor’s former incarnation and not even realized it.

_Dr. Matthew Stanton was once born a Druid, going by the name of Mordred. Mordred died at the age of nineteen, killed by the High Priestess of the Old Religion, the Lady Morgana._

Pip didn’t know how long he sat there staring at the entry, but eventually he left, the hall darkening as he did so.

Mordred couldn’t remember feeling as happy as he did now. He had just returned from spending time with Ophelia, watching the stars under the moonlight. They had found the place thanks to Colin. The boy was knowledgeable about the best places in the spirit realm to see the most constellations.

Yet when he entered his room, Mordred was wondering how that Cloak of Invisibility came to be on his bed. He hadn’t taken it with him when he’d left with Freya.

How did it get here?

He decided to accept the gift. Char had wanted him to keep it after all. He just needed to find some sort of box to store the Cloak in.

Mordred held the Cloak in his hand, feeling its nice silky smooth texture under his fingers. His hand and a part of his arm became invisible as the Cloak covered them. It was really a beautiful Cloak and he was honoured to have it for his own.

Someone knocked on his door then as if sensing his dilemma.

Mordred went to answer it.

Freya was at the door.

“Hello, Mordred,” she greeted him, smiling.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at her. “I don’t know how this Cloak arrived in my room. I never took it with me.”

“The Cloak is yours to keep, Mordred. That’s why it has been returned to you,” Freya informed him. “Would you like a box to store it in?”

“Yes, if you could.”

Freya conjured a flat rectangular box for him. It was a plain white box with golden swirls along the sides of it.

“Thanks,” said Mordred as he took the box from her and placed the Cloak of Invisibility inside it.

“Of course,” she said. “I came to tell you of a quest I hope you’d like to go on,” Freya told him as Mordred went to place the box on a shelf.

She followed after him.

Mordred turned his head to look at Freya. “A quest for what? I didn’t know ghosts can go on quests.”

“The quest is for a special sword, and I’m certain you are the right man for the job. It is called the Sword of Glastonbury and with it, you will be able to wield it against Morgana when the time is right.”

During his time in the spirit realm, Mordred had almost forgotten about Morgana and his desire to seek revenge against her. Maybe that had been the point in the end, he thought. He had to make the best of being dead and not let his anger and hate consume him. It would compromise his sanity after all.

“I want to go on the quest,” Mordred declared.

He knew he had to do this. He wouldn’t say no for a chance to make Morgana pay for stealing his chance at living a long life.

Freya had a knowing look in her brown eyes as he accepted.

“I am glad to hear that, Mordred.”

And then she told him more about the quest as Mordred listened to her with his full attention.

5295 AD

Arthur Pendragon raised his hand to knock on the door of the castle Dr. Stanton’s twenty-one year old son lived in. He was well aware that Colin didn’t appreciate strangers visiting. Many couldn’t resist asking about his father and whether he could confirm that he was stuck in ancient Rome. It had been over a year now since Dr. Matthew Stanton traveled back to the distant past. Arthur thought everyone was jumping too fast to conclusions since it hadn’t been long enough to believe the doctor couldn’t come back.

People logically assumed that since no traveler had returned from that far back into the past that Stanton surely wouldn’t. Arthur understood this, but he was certain there was more to it than that. What if the doctor didn’t want to return? Regardless of whether he could feasibly do so or not?

Due to the speculation, many couldn’t resist trying to speak to Colin about it. The public believed that, as Stanton’s son, he would have details everyone else didn’t have. Like what was the real reason for the doctor’s travel to ancient Rome. Like others, Arthur felt that Stanton’s explanation that he wanted to learn more about that time period was a smokescreen for the true reason. Considering Colin’s wariness from all the questions, people couldn’t help but believe that he did actually know something.

But Arthur wasn’t here to question him about his father. He had to learn why this missing child poster he was clutching could only be seen by him. He couldn’t let it go. Arthur had to get to the bottom of the mystery because a missing child meant a child in potential danger. It was no light matter. And seeing Colin in his dreams with the same blond boy in the poster led him to this castle. He hoped that Colin would understand. They were strangers to one another even if the dreams told him different.

Still Arthur knew he had to try. He was here so he couldn’t back out now. In front of him, the tall doors before him carried intricately carved wooden designs. On one door was a lion beside an apple tree and the other had a winged horse looking ready for lift off with his wings up and his front legs bent and off the ground, his hind legs straight.

There was a door knocker of a finch, a circular handle below the bird. After two knocks of the handle, no one answered the door. Then Arthur nearly jumped, startled, when a young woman appeared next to him. She looked to be in her 20’s like him or at the least late teens. She was pretty with strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes. She wore an asymmetrical green blouse with slim white pants and platform shoes.

She had flames as earrings that Arthur could see easily because her hair was styled in an updo, loose tendrils of hair framing her face. All together, Arthur thought she looked rather out of place in the midst of the old castle. What was she doing here?

She rummaged through her small purse before Arthur coughed to draw attention to the fact that he was there too.

The woman heard him and looked up. She smiled pleasantly. “Oh hello. I’m Brigit.” She gave him her hand to shake. Arthur couldn’t help but notice the chameleon tattoo on her right wrist. Strange.

“Hi. I’m Arthur. Are you here to see Colin?” He asked her, looking at Brigit doubtfully.

“It’s just a quick in and out. My place is a bit small so Colin lets me keep some stuff at his castle. Good thing about castles – they make good places to store things.”

“And Colin is your boyfriend?”

She gave a small laugh and shook her head. “Oh no. I’m just a friend of his. He’s very single, lucky for you. All too occupied with his uni studies, but that’s how Colin is.”

Arthur looked at her thoughtfully and then he decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Do you see an image on this poster?”

Brigit peered at the poster and Arthur could tell she could see the boy because she didn’t have the puzzled look on her face others had.

“Do you see him? Rilian?”

Brigit looked to him, giving him a small absent smile. “Yes I do. I see the boy. I think Colin will be very understanding.”

“I knocked twice and no answer,” Arthur told her.

“Third time’s a charm. He’ll come, trust me,” Brigit assured him.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck, Arthur,” she wished him before she magically disappeared.

“So Colin seems to be friends with a witch,” Arthur thought to himself. It was fitting that Brigit would be one as no normal human could look so impossibly beautiful. If she had been his type, Arthur would have definitely pursued something with her.

But now, he needed to get through this mission. He went to knock on the door with the lion and tree one more time.

When he heard the door opening, he felt relief sweep through him. Finally he would be able to lie to rest this little obsession he’d had the last few months.

“Rhys, I know you want a peek but,” Arthur heard from inside.

The door opened fully a moment later with Colin carrying a black kitten with white paws and a white-tipped tail. The kitten with his big golden eyes stared wondrously at Arthur. Arthur tried not to feel self-conscious under the animal’s curious gaze.

Colin’s dark hair curled around his ears and his blue eyes shone of intelligence and Arthur could immediately tell that Colin was measuring him up. On his blue T-Shirt, a forearm with the hand holding up a lit wand was emblazoned across the front. The words, “And a light to guide the way” was written in a calligraphic font face below the arm. Dark tight-fitted pants and Converse sneakers finished off his look.

“Yes? Who are you?” Colin asked him.

“Hi, I’m Arthur. I need to talk about Rilian…”

Colin’s eyes widened at the mention of Rilian.

“Rilian… you see him too?” Arthur asked in a rush, urgency and excitement filling him. He showed him the missing child poster. “I’ve been having these dreams where I saw the boy with you. It felt like some sort of past life to me. The dream took place in a castle inside the throne room I think.”

“I see him. Come in. Better to talk inside,” Colin suggested.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped in relief when he wasn’t turned away. This wouldn’t be a wasted effort after all. Colin stepped aside to allow Arthur to enter.

“I thought you would shut your door on me,” Arthur said.

Colin gave him a lopsided smile. “I couldn’t do that especially when you have the same issue as I do with Rilian. I’ve been dealing with seeing those posters for the past few months. It’s become a concern for me. Especially since if it was true, a child’s life was at risk. I couldn’t let the matter go if I wanted any sleep.”

Arthur followed Colin into the living room where there were comfortable seating places done in Baroque style. The blue seating areas clashed a bit with the comparatively futuristic big screen holographic television set next to the large fireplace. On the mantel, Arthur noticed a photo of Colin from a few years ago with his father. They looked like they were up in the Welsh mountains. Colin invited him to sit down in a three-seater sofa that was in front of a glass coffee table. He set down Rhys beside Arthur.

“Would you like some tea?” Colin asked.

“No thanks. Not right now.”

Colin sat down across from him in a two-seater.

Rhys climbed into Arthur’s lap. “Don’t you want him with you?” Arthur asked, indicating the kitten.

“Oh Rhys likes to meet new people. He’s fine. Just be careful with him. He’s only a kitten,” he advised Arthur. Then he gave a wry grin. “It’s only me and Rhys here in this big castle… I can’t help but be overprotective of him. Guess I should get out more,” Colin said with a shrug.

“What with your father, you have every right to try to claim some privacy for yourself.”

“Yeah I suppose so,” said Colin with a sigh.

“What about Brigit?” Arthur asked as he gently stroked Rhys, the kitten purring softly as he scratched behind his ears. “She said she was your friend. Saw her just before you let me in.”

Colin smiled. “Yes that’s right. Brigit is a good friend,” he agreed.

“Did you have any dreams with Rilian? Like I did with you and him?”

Colin nodded. “Though you weren’t in them. But like you said, it felt like I was dreaming my past life. I was meeting Rilian for the first time in a cave. I was there seeking shelter from the rain. I recall I had just finished burying someone and then the rain delayed my journey home.”

“Do you remember who you were burying?”

“No,” Colin said, sounding disappointed. “Wish I did. I feel like the name should be on the tip of my tongue. Yet I can’t remember no matter how hard I try.”

“What would be the purpose of the poster then?” Arthur wondered.

Colin grinned. “The obvious I would think. To bring the two of us together? Seeing the poster got you to come here.”

“There’s something else I should tell you,” Arthur announced. He’d taken to giving Rhys a tummy rub which he seemed to like. Arthur had never met a cat so friendly with strangers. There was a first time for everything he figured.

Colin looked questioningly at him.

“In my dreams, I swear that your name is Merlin and not Colin. I just look at you in the dream and think, ‘That’s Merlin in front of me.’ Odd, isn’t it?”

Colin was quiet for what felt like a long time. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. Arthur caught a glimpse of his eyes changing color from blue to golden, fleetingly, before returning to blue. The change was so quick Arthur could almost dismiss it as him seeing things.

“Colin, are you okay?” He asked.

Colin smiled at him, nodding. “I’m really glad you came, Arthur.”

  


~ The End ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the beginning of this process, someone gave me the idea to dreamcast Daniel Sharman as the character Char in this story. I can't remember who it was exactly now (boo bad memory), but that idea to use him as a visual as I wrote his scenes proved very helpful. I enjoyed writing his scenes and he was a very interesting character for me to write overall. I have not seen an episode of Teen Wolf, but I am aware that most know him from there. So thank you to whoever gave me the idea (it was someone on LJ). I really appreciate it. :-)
> 
> Also Tancred's name was from an ebook series that deals with Arthurian legend. The character is a minor one first appearing in the second installment of the series (Lancelot and the Sword by Sarah Luddington), but he becomes a more prominent character later on. I'll have to get a hold of the third book in the series to see what happens to him. He wasn't in the best place at the end of the second book. :( 
> 
> Anyway, I took a liking to Tancred so I couldn't resist borrowing the name. He possesses magic in the ebook series, so I thought it made sense for him to be Merlin's ancestor here. And I gave him a bit of a Harry Potter-esque childhood with him being an orphan and being bullied (but then Valerius, Nymeria and Merida helped to make his life better).
> 
> Nymeria was from Game of Thrones...the name of Arya Stark's direwolf who Arya named after an ancient warrior queen I believe. I got the name for Merida from the Disney & Pixar animated film, "Brave"...and I visualized her looking like that too. Merida was a Scottish princess in that movie but she was a bit of a tomboy. I can't imagine anyone not having seen this movie -- I highly recommend it. :-) The scene where she has her eyes in her hands is referencing a one-off character from ABC's Once Upon a Time.
> 
> I reused some names from my other stories... I had a character named Rilian in "Not Alone" who was Merlin's apprentice/adopted son... and then Pip was a character in "The Powerless Prince" who was also a Faery Prince.
> 
> If you like a name, reuse it I guess. I originally got the name Rilian from The Silver Chair (a book that's a part of The Chronicles of Narnia series) -- the Rilian in that book was a prince, the son of King Caspian (guess where I got the name of Tancred's son from :p). 
> 
> Bran's name and physical appearance is from The Dark Is Rising Sequence...in that book series, he's the son of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere to put it simply (to those who've read the series, you know how unusual his backstory is). I thought it'd be interesting to make him a Faery King here. He was sort of Uther-like, I know, but I tried to show that he was still a good person at heart.


End file.
